


Castle Rock

by suspiciousflashlight



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Extremely Awkward Flirting (TM), Gen, Gender-Questioning Character, M/M, MUltiple Character Perspectives, Minor Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Swing Dance AU, a Small Amount of swing dance history, asahi/nishinoya friendship, dubiously safe aerials, everyone is Very Sweaty All The Time, kageyama/hinata friendship, like.... SO many swing outs, overly technical description of balboa, so many swing-outs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:34:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 55,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25701418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suspiciousflashlight/pseuds/suspiciousflashlight
Summary: Daichi has big plans for his first year as captain of the Tohoku University Swing Dance Club. Better social dancing, competition prep, classic routines—this is the year the team finally gets whipped into shape, the year they finally start catching up to Sendai's fabulous all-girls team. He's going to make it happen.Unfortunately, there are a couple of variables he failed to account for in his rigorous planning: two of the new first years seem to hate each other's guts, the only girl in the club is too petrified to dance with anyone, the team's best two dancers haven't spoken to each other in four months, Tanaka keeps talking about tear-away shirts, and oh, apparently now Daichi needs to learn how to put together an original team choreography so the club can compete against teams from all over Japan at the annual Sendai Showdown.There's also the tiny, totally inconsequential, utterly insignificant matter of his massive crush on his practice partner, who also happens to be his best friend, who also happens to be the club's vice captain. Yeah... that's not awkward at all.
Relationships: Sawamura Daichi/Sugawara Koushi
Comments: 84
Kudos: 70





	1. Get Happy (Benny Goodman, 1936, 1939 Reissue)

**Author's Note:**

> A couple of notes on the concept for this fic... there is a swing community in Japan, although from what I’ve read it’s not very big (apparently Latin dances are the more popular social dances?). Swing is huge in South Korea and Seoul has one of the best swing scenes in the world; I’ve never danced there, so I just drew very lazily on my North American swing dance experience while writing this. All the (named) choreos, songs, and moves are real (aside from some of the aerials), although the names used for particular moves and the way moves are done can differ from place to place and dancer to dancer. Hopefully most of the terms used throughout are explained sufficiently or make sense through context, but there are some notes at the end of each chapter with further explanation.
> 
> (also, this fic is dedicated to chantal who came up with the idea and jen who is #daisuga4life. thank you as well to sally for being my first reader and beta!)

“Pleeeease?” Shouyou begged, clasping his hands together and throwing every ounce of his energy into looking as pathetic as possible. “Please please please, Izumi? I’ll buy you onigiri every day after school for a month! A whole month!”

“How are you going to buy me onigiri if we’re both grounded for the rest of our lives?” Izumi pointed out.

“I’ll buy you onigiri every day after school every day for _two_ months!”

“That’s not really—”

“ _Three_ months!”

“Stop!” said Izumi. “You don’t have that kind of money!”

“Quit bugging him, Shouyou,” said Kouji. He flipped through his magazine without much interest, then tossed it aside and lay back on his futon. The other boys in their class were lounging around the shared hotel room nearby, some of them actually attempting to do homework, most just chatting. A few were definitely asleep. “Man, this is such a boring trip. I thought Tokyo was supposed to be exciting.”

“I know what would make it more exciting,” Shouyou said hopefully.

“For the last time, we are _not_ sneaking out to go to some dance club with you!”

“It’s a social dance, not a dance club!” Shouyou protested. “Please? I just want to go for a bit! We could dance with real Tokyo swing dancers! Don’t you want to try dancing with someone who actually knows what they’re doing?”

“Honestly? Not really,” said Kouji. “C’mon, Shouyou, you know we only learned the steps and everything ‘cause you kept bugging us. Besides, we all suck.”

“It’s supposed to be for fun! It doesn’t matter how good you are. It’s not like your soccer club.” Shouyou cast another imploring look at Izumi, who was fiddling with his phone, resolutely avoiding meeting Shouyou’s gaze.

“Sorry, Shouyou,” said Izumi. “It just seems like a lot of trouble, don’t you think? Besides, when you’re in university next year, you can go to Tokyo whenever you want.”

Shouyou glowered at the pair of them. Izumi was totally missing the point, which was that Shouyou was in Tokyo, right now—Tokyo, which had an actual, legitimate swing dance scene, even if it wasn’t all that huge—and it was Friday night, and it was nine o’clock, which meant that right now, all of Tokyo’s best swing dancers were out dancing with each other at a social dance _where Shouyou could just walk right in and dance with them_. Or he would have been able to, if only his two best friends would quit being so boring and stubborn. Even Shouyou wasn’t brave enough to go wandering around Tokyo at night all on his own. But the hotel their teacher had picked was only a few blocks from the Tokyo Swing Dance Society’s regular Friday night venue! It was practically destiny!

Shouyou had no choice. It was time to deploy his secret weapon.

“If you two come out with me, you’ll get to dance with Tokyo girls. _University_ girls, I bet,” said Shouyou.

Izumi and Kouji looked at each other.

Sneaking out wasn’t actually that hard. The teachers had private rooms, so all Shouyou, Izumi, and Kouji had to do was walk out into the hall like they were headed for the baths and then book it for the front door. Aside from a minor nervous breakdown from Izumi (“I can’t believe we’re doing this, we’re going to get in so much trouble!” he moaned, while Kouji bullied him into pulling himself together), they left the hotel without incident, and after that it was only a matter of following the directions Shouyou had proactively written down from the TSDS website before their class had left Sendai that morning for their field trip.

The TSDS held their weekly social dances in the basement of a big building with restaurants and offices up top. The building was obviously old, not in a historically interesting way, but more in a way that suggested it was only a couple of weeks out from having a demolition permit slapped across its door. Izumi hesitated at the stop of the concrete stairs, obviously nervous again. “This looks kind of sketchy, doesn’t it? Are you sure you wrote the right address down?” he asked.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it!” Hinata assured him. “They have pictures online, it’s all normal-looking inside! There’s a nice wood floor!”

“The floor wasn’t really what I was worried about…”

“We came all the way here, didn’t we?” said Kouji, although he also sounded a little nervous. “We might as well go in.”

The instant Shouyou hauled open the stiff metal door, the music rolled out to meet him. It was just recorded, not live, but it reverberated around the basement, the swung base and the wailing clarinet accompanied by the shuffling and stomping of many, many pairs of feet. And in front of him, just down the hall, people were dancing, spinning, kicking, dipping, a spot of colour ballooning in the midst of the crowd every so often when a woman in a flowy skirt spun around.

“ _Wow_ ,” breathed Hinata. “Guys, come on! Let’s go dance!”

He’d never actually been to a social dance before. Sendai had a swing community too, even smaller than Tokyo’s, but their dances were held close to the university; by the time Shouyou had biked all the way there, danced a bit, and then biked all the way back, he would have totally blown his curfew. And there was the unofficial swing dance club at Shouyou’s high school—unofficial because he had started it himself—but it didn’t have many members, just Shouyou and a couple of girls who thoughts the ballroom dance club was too boring, plus Izumi and Kouji whenever Shouyou managed to pester them into coming to practice. Shouyou had mostly taught himself the basics through YouTube videos, which had actually done wonders for his English grades, since there weren’t many in Japanese. But now, right in front of him—real dancers, real Tokyo dancers, and he could just go right up to any of them and ask them to dance!

“Just half an hour, okay?” Izumi said, raising his voice to be heard over the music. “Then we have to go back to the hotel.”

“Sure, sure!” agreed Hinata, already looking around for a prospective partner.

He had danced a couple of songs already—he wasn’t doing too badly, he thought, and the girls he’d danced with were really nice, even if one of them had asked with mild concern where his parents were—when a fast song that everyone seemed to know came on, and instead of dancing, everyone clapped and shouted and clustered up into a big circle in the middle of the floor. The space in the middle of the circle was empty, and pairs of dancers ran in and out, showing off their flashiest moves.

“What is this?” asked Kouji, squeezing into the circle beside Shouyou.

“Jam circle!” Shouyou told him. This was amazing! He’d seen videos online, but really being here himself—! He wanted to run in himself so badly it _hurt_ —but he didn’t have a partner, and he barely knew any solo moves—

Someone shoved him as they pushed past, and Shouyou looked up—and up further—at a tall boy around his own age, whose face was twisted into the crankiest, sourest expression Shouyou had ever seen. He didn’t apologize or anything, just made eye contact with Shouyou and then jerked his head away. Then he glanced back down, contriving somehow to look even more irritated than he had a second ago, and told Shouyou, “You’re clapping out of time. It’s distracting.”

“Oh, uh, sorry,” said Shouyou, too startled to be offended. Cranky Guy was right, anyway. He’d been so busy watching the dancers that he hadn’t been paying attention to his hands.

Cranky Guy ignored him, and so Shouyou decided to ignore _him_ , turning back to the couple currently doing swing-outs in the middle of the circle. What a bad-tempered guy! He’d probably been dragged out by his friends and was being a jerk about it because he didn’t like dancing. At least Izumi and Kouji were making an effort! Cranky Guy had probably just been standing in the corner all night, sulking because no one wanted to—

Then Cranky Guy stepped forward and swung his partner out into the middle of the circle.

He was… really good.

Like… _really_ good.

His posture was perfect. His steps were small and precise, accented with all sorts of fancy footwork variations Shouyou couldn’t imagine learning in a million years. And the way he and his partner moved, the way he redirected her and caught her beautiful spins, the way their swing-outs stretched—wow!

Cranky Guy swung his partner out again, and when he brought her in—

It was so fast and so fluid that Shouyou barely had a chance to register the move, but Cranky Guy brought his partner in like a taut elastic snapping back into shape, and with the extra energy, he flipped her right over his shoulder and around his back, and for a second—before she landed—she _flew_.

 _Wow_.

Shouyou whooped along with the rest of the circle as the girl landed, and after that another couple came in, and another, and the whole time Shouyou was staring down Cranky Guy across the circle. The second the song ended, he shot across the floor to Cranky Guy, who did not look as if his incredible aerial had brought him any joy whatsoever.

“Hey!” Shouyou said. “You were amazing! Do you want to dance the next song with me?”

He hadn’t really followed much before—the girls in the club at school always wanted him to lead—and he knew you couldn’t do crazy air-steps like that on the social dance floor, but he didn’t care. He just knew, with a certainty that would have been nice to experience during a maths test even once in his life, that he had to dance with Cranky Guy, even if he _was_ in such an obviously terrible mood tonight. And then after they danced, Cranky Guy would say _wow, you’re really good, I think we should become practice partners and work on aerials together—!_

Cranky Guy looked down at him. He frowned. “I don’t dance with beginners,” he said, and walked away.

***

On Shouyou’s first day at Tohoku University, as he was racing across the field to attend his very first ever meeting with the Tohoku University Swing Dance team, someone shouted, “ _Hey, watch out!”_ moments before a soccer ball went flying over Shouyou’s head. It landed high up in a tree nearby, and a couple of disgruntled students ran after it, staring up at it in dismay.

“Do you guys want a hand?” asked Shouyou, eager to start making friends, even if they weren’t dance friends.

The students eyed him skeptically. The ball was lodged way up. And Shouyou was… not tall. He knew how it looked.

“We’ll just try throwing stuff at it,” said one of the girls.

“No, no, let me get it!” said Shouyou. He backed up, broke into a run, and leapt, grabbing onto a lower branch and using a combination of momentum and raw abdominal strength to crunch up and kick the ball free.

“Holy shit, who _are_ you?” demanded one of the other students on the ground below. “Dude, that was crazy, are you a gymnast or something—?”

But Shouyou wasn’t listening. He was hanging from the tree branch, staring at someone on the sidewalk, someone who was frozen in place, staring right back at him. He’d know that boring haircut and that irritable expression anywhere.

Cranky Guy.

***

Daichi had big plans for this year. _Big_ plans. Most importantly, of course, there was the team. They had a good group of upper-years this semester, and _five_ new first years registered already—five! Usually they capped out at two or three. It was too bad about Asahi and Noya taking their, ah, _break_ —but they’d be back, Daichi told himself firmly. They loved dancing too much to stay away for long.

And now that he was the team captain, he wanted to start making their practices more focused, work towards some real goals, maybe competition prep. The last two years had been fun, but with a swing scene as small as Sendai’s, there weren’t a lot of options for really working on your dancing, unless you wanted to commit and just move to Tokyo, or better yet, Seoul. He wanted more; he knew the other upper-years did too. Again, having Asahi and Noya would have been _really_ helpful, but—

But they’d be back. Anyway, he’d promised himself he wasn’t going to dwell on it—on Asahi quitting, or on the fact that Asahi hadn’t replied to any of his texts in weeks, or…

No, no, the thing with Asahi would all work out. Suga had said they should let him have his space, give him some time to decompress. Suga was good with all the… _feelings_ stuff, so Daichi was willing to trust him on that.

Right. And Suga… that was the other thing…

He remembered meeting Suga and Asahi on the first day of his first year of high school at the first meeting of the dance club. Suga had looked just slightly too young to be a first-year, Asahi just slightly (this was still pre-growth-spurt) too old. Suga had a kind face and a friendly smile, which Daichi had assumed had drawn Asahi to him, because Asahi was so nervous he was practically trembling. But then Asahi had stuttered when he’d introduced himself, and Suga had proceeded to spend the rest of the year teasing him by deliberately mangling his name.

Daichi also remembered sitting behind Suga in Japanese, staring at the back of his head, totally spaced out, thinking _wow, the sun makes his hair look so cool_ . And he remembered watching Suga clean the chalkboard after school with his sleeves rolled up, thinking _Suga has pretty nice arms_ and then _huh?_ And he remembered seeing Suga’s face scrunching with laughter as he riled Asahi up, thinking _cute_ and then _hang on…_ And of course he remembered the moment at the beach last summer, when they were all messing around, when Tanaka had grabbed Suga by the ankles and Daichi had grabbed Suga under the armpits and they had hauled him shrieking and struggling down to the water to toss him in, when all Daichi had been able to think was _Suga’s back is touching me, Suga’s BACK is touching ME, SUGA’S back is TOUCHING me,_ after which he had had to excuse himself to the bathroom for a bit to have a small nervous breakdown and do some serious self-reflection.

So that was Daichi’s other plan. This year—this _semester_ —he was finally going to do something about Suga. Specifically, he was going to go up to Suga, look him right in his beautiful brown doe-eyes, and say, _Hey Suga, I think you’re really handsome and a great guy, and I would really like it if you maybe wanted to go out for dinner with me sometime, and then maybe we could dance close-hold blues to Billie Holiday under the red maples in Nishi Park at sunset, and, just to be very clear, I mean this all in the gayest possible way_ , _thank you for your time, best regards, Daichi._

Well. He hadn’t settled on the wording yet. But he would. Maybe. Or maybe not. It was only the first day of the semester, so it was probably too early to make a decisive commitment. He would have to see how things played out. There were a lot of variables to consider—namely, whether or not he actually had the courage to risk their friendship and their dance partnership and the coherence of the team in general over some silly crush that he would probably get over soon enough anyway (it had been an _active_ crush for nearly a year already, so he was probably about due to get over it soon, right?). And, after all, he _was_ the team captain now, and he intended to take that responsibility seriously. Common sense told him that an irreparable rift between captain and vice-captain, should it occur due to a misstep on his end, would not benefit team morale or productivity, and—

—and he had arrived at the entrance to the dance studio in Kawauchi Hall, which was currently blocked by two boys pushing and shoving at each other as each tried to be the first to make it through the door.

It was chaos. The tall kid had grabbed the short kid by the face and was trying to shove his head backwards. The short kid was industriously hauling the tall kid’s right leg up in the air as high as he could manage, trying to flip him off balance, which wasn’t doing much good, because holy _shit_ was the tall kid ever flexible—his leg just kept going higher. The two boys were shouting at each other, and over their shouting Daichi could make out the voices of Suga, Ennoshita, and Tanaka trying to break them up.

Daichi put on his best and most intimidating glower, stalked up behind the boys, and hollered, “WHAT THE HELL DO YOU TWO THINK YOU’RE DOING?”

The short kid squeaked in alarm, letting his guard just long enough for the tall kid to finally succeed in shoving him over backwards. Daichi caught him by the back of the shirt and set him upright.

“Sorry sorry sorry!” said the short kid, bowing frantically. He pointed an accusing finger at the tall kid and said, “But he started it, I swear!”

“You dirty liar, I did _not_!” the tall kid shot back.

Daichi glanced at the other upper-years for confirmation. Ennoshita shrugged and said, “Who knows? They were already fighting when they got here.”

“ _Stop_ ,” snapped Daichi. He glared at the short kid, who went white and tried to hide behind the tall kid; he glared at the tall kid, who hung his head, looking sufficiently cowed. “Who are you guys?”

“Kageyama Tobio,” said the tall kid.

“Hinata Shouyou, sir!” said the short kid.

“Uh, you don’t have to call me _sir_ ,” said Daichi, momentarily startled out of his strictness. He checked his team registration list—Kageyama Tobio and Hinata Shouyou were both on it. He fixed his face back into his best captain scowl. “I don’t care what history you two have. From now on, you’re teammates. Got that?”

“We don’t have any history,” said Kageyama, looking surprised. “We just met.”

“Now _you’re_ the dirty liar!” shrieked Hinata. “You were a jerk to me in Tokyo that one time, you—you—jerk!”

“That’s not _history_ , dumbass, I saw you in Tokyo for _two seconds_ —”

“CUT IT OUT,” Daichi thundered, and they both fell silent. “ _As I was saying_ , you’re teammates. If you want to _stay_ teammates, you’ll start being civil to each other _right now_. Otherwise, you can find another club to join. _Okay_?”

Hinata and Kageyama looked at each other unhappily, but they nodded and shuffled into the studio without any further attempts on each other’s lives. Suga fell into step beside Daichi, close enough that their arms were almost touching, and muttered, “Remind me not to get on your bad side, _captain._ ”

“Very funny,” said Daichi, and swallowed. His pulse had picked up, as it tended to do these days whenever Suga was within three feet of him. To distract himself, he glanced down at his registration list again, and then looked up at the two other boys in the room, a kid with freckles who was staring at Hinata and Kageyama with barely contained horror, and a blond guy with glasses who towered over everyone else in the room. “You two are first-years as well?”

“Tsukishima Kei,” said the blond.

“Um, Yamaguchi Tadashi,” said the one with freckles.

So they were just missing one first-year. Well, maybe he was late. That was alright. Aobayama Campus was big and disorienting after coming from high school; Daichi remembered getting lost seven times in his first week.

Daichi cleared his throat and said, “Okay, everyone, thanks for joining us, and welcome to the Tohoku University Swing Dance Team’s first practice of the semester. I’m your captain, Sawamura Daichi—just Daichi is fine, please—and this is your vice-captain, Sugawara Koushi.” Suga gave a little wave. Oh no. He was so cute. No, okay, it was time to focus. “These two are Tanaka Ryuunoske and Ennoshita Chikara. Before we get started—”

Hinata raised his hand.

“Dude, don’t interrupt the captain!” said Tanaka.

“No, it’s fine. Hinata?”

“Hey, so, I was just wondering, how come there aren’t any girls here?” asked Hinata, looking around.

Suga and Daichi exchanged a look. “Um…” said Daichi.

“You guys don’t know any girls, do you?” said Tsukishima scornfully.

Daichi laughed awkwardly. “Ah, well, no, it’s not like that—”

Tsukishima’s mouth only twisted further in scorn. “Four upperclassmen don’t know a single girl between them? That’s pathetic.”

“You don’t know that many girls either, Tsukki,” muttered Yamaguchi.

Tsukishima scowled.

“Most of the girls at Tohoku end up doing Latin or ballroom,” Suga explained. There had been two girls on the team when Daichi and Suga were first-years, but they had both graduated, and no new girls had joined last year to replace them. “The Sendai swing scene is really small in general, but there are some girls. They come out to the socials every week, so we dance with them then. It’s just that most of them are already in a dance troupe together—you know, like a chorus girl group. And, um, they don’t come to our practices because…”

Suga looked at Daichi. Daichi looked at Tanaka. Tanaka looked at Ennoshita, who looked back at Suga, who was now avoiding his gaze by staring intently up at Dance Studio #3’s faded, dusty ceiling. Ennoshita looked at Daichi, who was not quite quick enough in directing his gaze downward to an exposed nail sticking out of the scuffed floorboards. Daichi sighed. He was the captain, after all.

“Because they’re much better than us,” Daichi explained. “The Sendai Swingers have been dancing together for years. It’s just the way the scene evolved here,” he added defensively. “Alisa-san moved here from Europe and started teaching solo in Miyagino-ku, but her classes were mostly girls, and then they started getting advanced, so…”

“Kiyoko-san’s on the girls’ team, and she helps us practice sometimes,” said Suga.

There was a moment of reverential silence.

“Anyway, the girls are nice, but we’re not on their level,” Daichi concluded. “So we don’t really compete with them or anything.”

“Wooooow, so you’re like a chorus boy troupe? That’s so cool!” said Hinata.

“Is that… a thing…?” Ennoshita asked hesitantly.

“Sure it is!” said Hinata. “Like hip hop! Like in America!”

“You’ve never been to America, have you?” said Tsukishima.

“Neither have you, Tsukki,” pointed out Yamaguchi.

Tsukishima scowled.

“We’re not really… like that,” said Daichi. “I mean, we don’t perform or anything. In the past we’ve mostly just practiced together to work on our social dancing. Sorry.”

Hinata sagged with obvious disappointment, and Daichi felt terrible, like he’d just picked up a cute little puppy and drop-kicked it across the recreation field, its sad puppy-dog eyes staring at him forlornly as it sailed through the air to an untimely demise.

“So?” said Kageyama, who loomed sulkily over Hinata, and Hinata flinched. “If it’s not a thing, make it a thing. It’s not a big deal.”

To Hinata’s obvious horror, Kageyama pointed right at him. “He dances like he’s wearing Moon Shoes. It’s not a compliment,” he added quickly, just in case Hinata might have the audacity to be pleased with himself for just a moment. “You look stupid, dumbass. But he can jump really high, and he has good core strength. We could do something with that in a routine.” He shrugged. “Just saying.”

“Yes!” said Hinata, nodding vigorously. “We could do it! We could definitely do it!”

“Hell yeah!” said Tanaka. He elbowed Daichi. “Hey, these guys have the right idea! Why not, huh?”

Tsukishima rolled his eyes, but beside him Yamaguchi was nodding too, albeit without Hinata’s enthusiasm. Suga looked sly, which was never a good sign.

“Well, we can talk about it,” said Daichi. “For today, though, we’re going to—”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I got lost, I’m sorry! Am I too late? I’m really sorry!”

Right in the doorway, an extremely tiny girl—tinier even than Noya, so tiny Daichi couldn’t help worrying that she’d gotten lost on her way to middle school—was doubled over, clutching at her sides and gasping for breath. She raised her head, registered the eight guys staring at her, and started backing up in alarm.

“Hey, it’s okay,” said Suga, stepping forward and offering the girl a friendly smile. “Are you lost? The ballroom dance team practices in the studio just down the hall. Don’t worry, it’s a common mix-up.”

The girl stared up at Suga, wide-eyed. “Um, um, I, actually, I’m not here for—I thought this was—um, I’m looking for—isn’t this—”

“Hang on,” said Daichi, pulling out the registration list again. He hadn’t paid all that much attention to the names. He’d just assumed… “Are you Hitoka Yachi?”

“Yes!” gasped Yachi. “Um, I’m sorry! I didn’t realize you were all—I can leave!”

“No, no, please, come join us. Welcome to the team,” Daichi said hurriedly. Beside him, he could hear Tanaka mumbling to Ennoshita _dude, a girl, we have an actual girl, like an ACTUAL girl?_ Daichi silenced him with a pointed glare.

“Don’t freak her out, Tanaka,” Ennoshita muttered.

Though it seemed difficult to imagine that Yachi could be any more freaked out than she already was. She looked up at all the boys again, pressed a hand over her mouth, and sidled very nervously up beside Hinata, whose height must have made him slightly less intimidating than everyone else. Hinata grinned at her, and Yachi offered a tentative smile in return. Good, good. Actually, it was probably for the best that Asahi wasn’t here today. Yachi might have cried if she saw him towering over her, with his huge shoulders and his man-bun and his beard, and then Asahi would have cried too, and then Daichi’s first-ever practice as team captain would have been irreparably derailed.

“So, we’ll talk about our goals for the semester next practice, but for today I’d like to start by getting a sense of what level everyone is at right now,” Daichi explained. “First off, if each of you first-years could tell me whether you prefer to lead or follow…”

***

For the fourteenth time since he’d left his apartment ten minutes ago, Daichi wiped his palms on his jeans in a futile effort to banish the nervous clamminess from his hands. This was ridiculous. Down by the river, where Daichi was walking, it was still cold enough for a jacket, and yet here he was, perspiring like a pig in the middle of a heatwave. It wasn’t just ridiculous, it was downright pathetic. _He_ was pathetic.

As the black awning of Café Karasuno poked out around the corner, Daichi left off self-deprecation to return to his previous occupation, which involved mentally workshopping what he was going to say to Suga. _Suga, you know how last year Asahi and Noya competed in the—?_ Well, no, better not to bring up Asahi and Noya, given the way things were with them right now. _Suga, we’ve been practicing together a lot lately, and I was wondering…_ Did that make it weird, though? Drawing attention to their practices? Their practices where it was just the two of them? Where Daichi was highly aware that it was just the two of them? Where Suga might now suddenly realize that Daichi was highly aware that it was just the two of them? Or was Daichi being paranoid?

If he didn’t say it right—

No. No. It would be fine. Suga would say yes. Probably. Maybe. And if he didn’t, then that would also be fine, and Daichi would go on with his life, and would not take it personally, and would not seethe with envy as Kiyoko-san demonstrated swing-outs with Suga at practice, and would only mope around inconsolably for maybe a week, max.

The glass door of Karasuno and its hand-scrawled OPEN sign confronted him. He could see Suga through the window, settled at their usual table in the back. His books were open in front of him, but he was tapping his pen absently against his cheek as he stared at the wall with a vague, unfocused expression. Daichi knew that look. Any other day, that look would have put him instantly on guard. That look meant Suga had begun scheming, and Suga scheming was usually followed by Suga dragging Daichi into something troublesome, because Suga was devious and Daichi’s poor heart was very, very weak. Today, though, Daichi just wiped his sweaty palms on his pants twice more for good measure before he hauled the café’s door open and stepped inside.

Okay. Just act natural, Daichi told himself. Act natural, and pray that you haven’t started sweating through your shirt yet. Why was it so _hot_ in here?

“Heya, captain!” said Noya from behind the counter, despite the fact that Noya had been staunchly shunning team practice ever since his blow-up with Asahi after Swing Out Tokyo. “Did you run here or something? You look kinda sweaty. Iced coffee?”

“Sure,” said Daichi, because he knew it was the only thing on the menu Noya could make with any level of competence.

Suga jumped when Daichi sat down across from him a few minutes later. He blinked, then smiled a smile that punched Daichi right in the gut. He said, “Good morning! Oh, wow, you’re really sweaty. Did you run here?”

“Yeah, I did,” Daichi lied. “What are you studying?”

“Just biochem.” Suga frowned down at his textbook. Then, to Daichi’s extreme agitation, Suga looked Daichi right in the eyes and said, “Have you been thinking about it?”

Thinking about—it? What was _it_ ? Asking Suga to compete with him? Holding hands with Suga in a non-platonic, non-dance context? Running his fingers through Suga’s fluffy grey hair? Leaning across the table right at this very moment and sweeping Suga up in a tender kiss that _I’m in love with you, please date me_? Doing— _other_ things, the briefest contemplation of which occasionally made it difficult for Daichi to look Suga in the eyes without going totally red and praying fervently that Suga wouldn’t spontaneously develop the ability to read minds?

Daichi’s guilty conscience prompted him to say, “Yes,” automatically. Panic compelled him to correct this hastily to, “I mean, no.” And, finally, as confusion announced its residency, he concluded, “I mean, what?”

“What those first-years suggested,” Suga clarified. “Doing a team choreography. The Sendai Showdown is in December, right? We could put something together for the team division. It’s not exactly high-pressure. It might be fun.”

There were a number of important counterpoints Daichi could have raised relating to the feasibility of Suga’s suggestion, namely that none of them had any experience choreographing and most of them didn’t have any experience performing. He might have raised these points, and others, if he had been talking to anyone else. But this was Suga, and Suga was grinning at him across the table, drumming his pen against his book in an excited sort of way, and so Daichi folded instantly, like a cheap patio chair in the hurricane of life.

“Yeah, okay,” Daichi said. Suga’s grin grew even wider, and Daichi thought _Daichi, you idiot_ …

“Really? Great! Maybe Kiyoko-san can help give us some ideas for the choreography. And that Kageyama kid—he must have some sort of dance background, right? You’ve seen his spins.” Suga sighed wistfully. Then his eyes narrowed, making his face sly and foxlike, and he leaned in closer as he lowered his voice. “We need to lure Asahi back to the team. Noya would join in a heartbeat, but I bet you anything he won’t do it without Asahi.”

“That won’t be easy. Asahi hasn’t been out dancing in months.”

“Yeah… hmm. We’ll think of something.”

“You were the one who said to give him space.”

“I know, I know, but honestly, I thought he’d have come around by now…”

They lapsed into silence, Suga pensive, Daichi starting to sweat again. He had to ask Suga, right now. He just had to do it. Suga had brought up the Sendai Showdown himself. It was the perfect setup, and would allow for Daichi to drop the question into their conversation in a cool, casual, laid-back, totally chill way. He just. Had to. Do it.

“Speaking of the Showdown,” Daichi began. Suga’s eyes focused on him again, watching expectantly, and suddenly Daichi discovered that his tongue seemed to have been replaced by a large, dead mackerel, lolling around uselessly in his mouth.

Suga waited, still expectant. Daichi stared at him, mind utterly blank. He’d workshopped so many different ways of presenting his proposition, but now they were all jumbled together uselessly in his brain, blending into one big, buzzing blurr of nothing. Suga was still waiting. Shit, he was taking too long, it was getting weird—

“Doyouwannadothestrictlywithme?” Daichi said, blind panic blurring all the words into one incomprehensible mess.

Suga blinked. “Um… sorry, I didn’t quite… catch that…”

Daichi forced himself to take a deep breath, and plastered on what he hoped was a cool, casual, laid-back, totally chill smile. “I was just wondering if, uh, well, since we’d be competing at the Showdown anyway, I was wondering if you wanted to do the strictly with me. Just the open division. No pressure, obviously.”

“Oh!” Suga hit Daichi with another sucker-punch of a smile. “Yeah, sure! I was actually thinking about asking you. That would be fun!”

Eventually they settled down to study, Daichi wavering between a transcendental sense of accomplishment and bone-deep personal shame. It was, of course, true that he liked dancing with Suga. They had a great connection, and he knew Suga’s leads, and Suga gave him lots of space for stylings, and they were at about the same level now, and they both developed tunnel-vision when they were trying to learn something new. Plus, Suga danced in a way that made Daichi feel like Suga was trying to startle him into laughing. It was fun. He really did think doing the Strictly would be good for both of them.

But it was, of course, equally true that every time he danced with Suga, he found himself thinking _ohhhh my God I’m touching Suga_ , and his heart started pounding with sufficient intensity to power a small car. Which made him feel slightly sleazy. Competing together—that was a serious partnership. You were supposed to be able to trust each other. _But_ , Daichi promised himself, _you can handle this responsibly_. He just had to focus on being a good partner. That was what counted.

***

“Kageyama, Kageyama! Wait up! _Kageyama!_ ”

Through the crowd of students filling the hall, Shouyou saw Kageyama pause, glance backwards, and look right at him. Then, very deliberately, Kageyama turned away and kept walking. What a jerk! Shouyou put on a burst of speed, darting through surprised first-years with a barrage of “excuse me!”s and “sorry!”s, and caught up just before Kageyama turned the corner.

Kageyama scowled down at him. He was wearing track pants and a t-shirt, the exact same outfit he always wore to dance practice. Sometimes he even wore the same thing to the socials on Friday, which admittedly weren’t very formal, although most people dressed up at least a _bit_ . After seeing Kageyama dance in Tokyo, Shouyou had thought he was good, but now that he saw him every day at practice, he knew better: Kageyama was _really good._ He moved with a kind of grace Shouyou had never, ever seen before. However, maybe it was the clothes, or maybe it was the way his face made it look like he was in the midst of plotting a gruesome murder, or maybe it was the fact that he was painfully awkward, but at the socials, he never ended up dancing much.

“Quit following me around!” Kageyama snapped, striding down the hall. Shouyou jogged at his side to keep up.

“Teach me aerials! I saw you base that one in Tokyo, so I know you can do them! Remember, it was that cool one where the girl went right over your shoulders like, flip, _fwoosh!_ I want to do that, so teach me!”

Kageyama sped up. So did Shouyou. “Dumbass! Everyone on the team’s twice your size. You’d get squashed flat.”

“Yachi’s smaller than me!” Shouyou protested. “But anyway, that doesn’t matter! I want to be the flyer!”

Kageyama was walking as fast as he could without actually running, but here Shouyou had the advantage. His determination had long ago overridden his basic sense of social propriety, which meant that he had absolutely no qualms about putting on a sudden burst of speed to sprint ahead and block Kageyama’s path. “I have a strong core—you said that yourself! And I bike over the mountains every day to get to school, so I have really strong legs, so I can jump really high! See? Feel my thighs!”

A few students passing in the hall glanced askance at them, and Kageyama’s face started to go pink. “I’m not feeling your thighs!”

“Well, fine! But don’t you think I’d be a really good flyer? I’m pretty light, too. So? Will you do aerials with me? For the Showdown routine?”

Kageyama was still scowling—Kageyama was always scowling—but there was something else underneath this time, an air of calculating scrutiny. He also hadn’t made any effort to push past Hinata. “Your footwork is sloppy, and your posture sucks.”

“I’m working on that stuff, okay?” Shouyou protested. “And Kiyoko-san says my rhythm is pretty good!”

“The follower is the flyer in ninety-five percent of aerials. Have you ever followed before? Do you even know how?”

“I have!” Shouyou insisted, which was _technically_ true. He hadn’t had much of a chance with his club in high school, but he’d successfully begged Suga to stay late after practice and lead him a couple of times already. He knew the follower footwork, sort of, and could follow a couple of basic moves pretty well.

Kageyama’s eyes narrowed. “Can you follow a swing-out?”

“Sure I can!” said Shouyou. Actually he couldn’t, because Suga had said he should start by focusing on the basics first, but Shouyou had led swing-outs on all the girls at his high school club, and on Kiyoka-san, and on Daichi, and he could usually manage them pretty well, so how different could following be, really? However, in the spirit of honesty, he amended, “I mean, I sort of can! Probably!”

“Tch,” said Kageyama, and with that he did brush past Shouyou, stalking off down the hall. Before the mass of students hurrying to their next classes swallowed him up, he called back over his shoulder, “I’m not teaching you anything, dumbass, so quit bugging me!”

But Shouyou did not quit bugging him. In fact, over the remainder of the week, Shouyou strove to bug Kageyama as much as possible—and Shouyou had it on good authority that he _excelled_ at bugging people, often even when he wasn’t making a conscious effort, so he was confident that he was doing a commendable job. It helped that Kageyama appeared to be an android programmed to execute the exact same tasks in the exact same order every single day, the only deviations accounted for by his class schedule, which Shouyou had cleverly sneaked a look at during dance practice on Monday. In the mornings, Kageyama went to the gym; then he went to his lecture if he had class; then he had lunch in the cafeteria; then back to class; then back to the gym; then to dance practice. When he didn’t have class, he went to the third floor of the library, where he set out all his textbooks, took out his notebook, uncapped his pen, and then proceeded to spend several hours watching dance videos on his phone.

And so, on Wednesday at 6:00 a.m., Shouyou snagged the treadmill beside Kageyama’s at the gym, jammed the button until he’d made it up to the same inhuman speed as Kageyama, and reached over to yank out Kageyama’s ear bud so he could pant, “Teach me aerials, Kageyama!”

And on Wednesday at 9:00 a.m., Shouyou sat down in the seat across the table from Kageyama in the library, pushed Kageyama’s textbooks aside, and said, “Hey, Kageyama! We should do aerials tonight!”

And on Wednesday at 12:15 p.m., Shouyou snuck up behind Kageyama at the vending machine, moving with such incredible stealth that he was able to snatch the carton of milk Kageyama had just purchased right out of his hands, and raced down the hall shouting, “I’ll give it back if you do aerials with me, Kageyama!”

And on Wednesday at 2:45 p.m., when Kageyama was in his physics class, Shouyou leaned over from the seat behind Kageyama in the lecture hall and whispered, “Kageyama, Daichi said we could use the studio after practice! You wanna try some aerials?”

And on Wednesday at 4:30 p.m., when Kageyama was back at the gym contorting himself through all sorts of physically improbable stretches on the mats, Shouyou dropped down to start doing crunches beside him, yanked out Kageyama’s ear bud again, and said, “Look how strong my core is, Kageyama! Good for aerials, right?”

To his credit, Kageyama managed to withstand Shouyou’s pestering all the way until Friday morning, which was a whole twelve hours longer than any of Shouyou’s other friends had ever managed to endure Shouyou at his most determined. But on Friday morning, when Shouyou hopped up onto the treadmill beside Kageyama once more and cranked the speed, Kageyama finally snapped. He leapt off his treadmill with all the grace and purpose of an enraged gazelle, grabbed Shouyou in a headlock, and shouted, “ _Leave me alone, you tiny moron!”_

The rest of the gym’s early risers turned to stare at them in shock. By the time a concerned bystander had fetched a gym employee from the front desk, Shouyou was struggling against Kageyama’s unnecessarily muscular bicep and both of them were shouting over each other. They were escorted out of the gym with a warning and firm instructions not to attempt returning until they had both cooled down.

“Nice going, dumbass!” Kageyama snapped. He jammed his hands in his pockets and scowled. “Now I’m missing my workout!”

“ _You’re_ the one who grabbed _me_ ,” Shouyou said reproachfully, falling into step beside Kageyama. “ _I_ should be mad at _you_ for interrupting _my_ workout.”

“You weren’t there to work out! You were there to annoy the crap out of me!”

This was true, but clearly beside the point. “Well, yeah,” said Shouyou. He shivered as a gust of wind blew in from the open field across from the Science Complex, whipping right through his sweat-damp t-shirt. The irate gym employee had let them collect their things from the locker room, but she’d booted them out before they’d had time to change. “So, what d’you want to do now? Hey, I know, we could practice—”

Kageyama smacked him in the head, his scowl growing even more fearsome. “You idiot! I told you already, your dancing sucks. You can’t just start doing aerials when you’re still practically a beginner. They won’t work and you’ll get hurt.”

“So let’s work on other stuff!” said Shouyou, undaunted. “Help me with my swing-outs! I wanna do swivels like Kiyoko-san!”

Kageyama hesitated.

“C’mon, Kageyama! If we’re practicing together you get to yell at me more.”

Shouyou held his breath. Kageyama glared at him, then jerked his head away and muttered something indecipherable.

“Huh?” said Shouyou.

“I said,” Kageyama said, spitting the words through gritted teeth, as if repeating them at an audible volume was causing him intense physical pain, “I’ll help you… if you show me how to make my charleston bouncier. Like yours. Okay?”

***

On Monday, before practice, Tanaka said, “Guys, I’ve had an amazing idea,” and Daichi instantly became suspicious.

“Is it _tear-away shirts_ again?” asked Suga as he laced up the thin-soled runners he wore for dance practice. “Because those exist. They’re called button-ups.”

“You could just tear open a regular t-shirt, for that matter,” said Ennoshita. “Just put a little muscle into it.”

Tanaka rolled his eyes and dropped down into a lunge to stretch out his thighs. “Dude, I already explained, I want one with snaps. I’m not an animal. Anyway, _no_ , it’s not tear-away shirts. We should have a party.”

“A party?” Ennoshita said blankly. “You mean like a social dance?”

“No, I mean like a party. A regular party where we get drunk and hang out and whatever.”

“But… with dancing?” said Suga.

“ _No_ , just a _regular party_ like _normal people_ have! Geez, why is this so hard to understand?” Tanaka took in their blank expressions and sighed. “Look, if we have a party, we can invite Asahi-san and Noya, and then we can convince them to come back to the team, okay? But to do that we need to have a party with _no dancing_. Or Asahi-san won’t want to come.”

“Why does it have to be a party?” Daichi asked. “Are you suggesting we peer pressure Asahi into rejoining the team?”

“I mean, _no_ , but, yeah, sort of. Not _peer pressure_ ,” Tanaka corrected hastily. “Just, you know, we party, Asahi-san has a good time, he’s like _oh man, I missed you guys so much, I’ll totally come join your team choreo_ , Kiyoko-san is there—”

“What does that have to do with anything?” asked Daichi.

“Kiyoko-san is very convincing!”

“Yeah, for you…”

“For everyone!” Tanaka insisted.

“So if Kiyoko-san told you to do a backflip off the Science Complex roof—”

“I would do it in a heartbeat, because I trust her with my life,” Tanaka said confidently. “And Asahi-san would do it too, because he hates telling people no. So? How about it?”

And so it was decided that on Saturday night at 8:00 p.m., the members of the Tohoku University Swing Dance Team, plus its two most recent ex-members, plus Kiyoko-san, would gather for a party with no dancing (“No dancing?” said Hinata in mournful disbelief; “but why?”), moderate quantities of alcohol for those of age (Daichi put firm emphasis on _moderate_ and _of age_ ), and “hanging out or whatever” (Tanaka had been vague on the details). Ennoshita, or rather, Ennoshita’s parents, would host, because his family’s house downtown was just barely big enough to fit twelve people in the living room if everyone sat very still, and his parents were in Hokkaido for the week visiting Ennoshita’s sister. Only a few minor details remained to be sorted out.

“I think you should text Asahi,” said Daichi after practice, as he walked with Suga to the train station. Those two crazy first years were still practicing in the studio, but Tanaka had agreed to stay late and lock up after them.

“Really? Because I was thinking _you_ should text Asahi,” said Suga.

“No, I think you should do it. No one can say no to you,” said Daichi.

Suga laughed. “Sure they can. Besides, Asahi’s scared of you, so he’ll do whatever you say.”

“He’s not scared of me!”

“He is,” Suga insisted. “Anyway, _you’re_ the team captain.”

“Well, as captain, I think I’ll delegate this to my vice-captain.”

“You’re such a jerk,” said Suga, though he was grinning. “Fine, I’ll do it, but you have to buy me mapo tofu every day for the rest of my life.”

“No way. You’ll die of heartburn.”

“I won’t!”

But Daichi had been right to make Suga do it, because later that night his phone buzzed, and he picked it up to see a text from Suga: _asahi is in!! you owe me spicy tofu forever!!!_

Daichi didn’t ask what Suga had said to get Asahi to agree. He just hoped it wasn’t anything disingenuous.

“I thought we were doing homework!” Asahi said, scandalized, when Ennoshita opened his door on Saturday night and ten curious heads (Noya was late, as usual) turned to see who had arrived. “Suga, you said it would just be you and Ennoshita!”

“Well, it is just me and Ennoshita!” said Suga cheerfully, popping up behind Ennoshita just in time to grab Asahi by the arm and haul him into the house as he started to back away. “And a few other people! Come on, have a beer. We’ve missed you!”

Asahi sighed, but he accepted the beer Suga thrust into his hand and squeezed his oversized frame into the available space between Daichi and Suga. He didn’t say much at first, but as he sipped at his beer, and as everyone continued to sit around without attempting to dance, he seemed to relax. It was nice, the three of them sitting together, and for a while it felt just like it had before Swing Out Tokyo, on the nights when they would all stagger back to Daichi’s place after several hours of dancing, all of them sweaty, dehydrated, and hobbled by aching feet.

“So, ah, are those the new kids?” Asahi asked, nodding to the other corner of the room, where Tsukishima was scrolling on his phone while Yamaguchi stuttered through a conversation with Yachi, both of them pink and radiating nervous energy. Beside Yachi, Kageyama and Hinata were wrestling over the last dumpling from their takeaway.

“Yeah, we got five of them this year,” said Daichi. Maybe it was the lukewarm beer, but he was seized with a sudden sense of cautious optimism. He had deliberately avoided bringing up the team in their conversation; Suga and Tanaka could scheme all they wanted, but Daichi didn’t actually want Asahi to feel pressured to come back. He would come back when he was ready. Daichi was certain of that—fairly certain—and now Asahi had just started talking about the team on his own. That was a good sign.

Kageyama managed to cram the coveted dumpling in his mouth, and Hinata immediately started trying to pry his jaw open to fish it back out. Kageyama responded by biting his fingers.

“CUT IT OUT, YOU TWO!” Daichi roared.

“They seem, uh… energetic,” said Asahi.

“They’re really committed. Kageyama grew up doing ballet. And Hinata, the short one, he’s really athletic,” Suga said conversationally. “Tsukishima, he’s the blond, picks up choreo crazy fast, and Yamaguchi knows a whole bunch of vintage 20s moves. And, as you may have noticed, we finally have a girl on the team, Yachi. Kiyoko-san’s been showing her all sorts of swing-out stylings. We’ve got a really strong group this year. It’ll be good for the Showdown.”

Across Asahi, Suga gave Daichi a look, no, a Look. It was calm and bland, it was a Look that said _I have just made a passing observation of no real significance_ , it was a Look that said _I am not up to anything whatsoever,_ it was a Look that was utterly and completely deceitful. Daichi knew that Look very well. He found himself holding his breath.

“The Showdown?” said Asahi. “Um, you’re competing?”

Suga smiled his sweetest and most innocent smile. “Oh, didn’t Daichi tell you? We’re entering the team division together this year.”

“Oh yeah?” said Asahi.

“Yeah, we’re working on the choreo right now. We’re thinking of Get Happy—Benny Goodman—you know that one?”

Actually, Daichi and Suga hadn’t settled on a song yet, although they’d been testing out a few with Kiyoko-san. Get Happy was the fastest song on their list—Daichi didn’t know the exact BPM, but it had to be at least 200. It was pure coincidence that Suga had mentioned that song, Daichi was sure, and completely unrelated to the fact that Asahi and Noya almost always choreographed to fast music.

“That’s… pretty up-tempo, isn’t it?” said Asahi.

Oxygen deprivation was beginning to make Daichi lightheaded, but the moment felt very delicate. Suga was in the midst of laying an intricate web of temptation, so fragile the merest breath might trigger total disintegration.

“Would you—” Asahi began.

Then Nishinoya arrived, bearing more beer and an enormous watermelon, both of which he dumped haphazardly beside the door. “Sorry I’m late!” he called. “Ukai-san made me close up, and someone spilled a—Tanaka! Hey!”

Tanaka, who had been unsuccessfully attempting to insinuate himself into Ennoshita and Kiyoko-san’s conversation, surged to his feet and leapt over Tsukishima to make it to the door. “Noya! Dude! You ready? I’ve been practicing!”

Noya grinned and bent his knees, and in tandem the two of them leapt up and twisted around in a matching set of sharp over-the-legs, unwinding without a hint of an off-balance tremor when they landed. They high-fived.

“Wooooow, that was _awesome_!” shouted Hinata, whose eyes were practically bugging out of his head. “Can you teach me that? It’s so cool! Like this, is it like that?” Hinata made a spirited attempt at the move himself, launching himself into a spinning jump and promptly faceplanting into Yamaguchi’s lap.

“Dumbass!” Kageyama groaned. “Not like _that_ —you need to use your core, stupid!”

“If you two don’t cut it out, I’m sending you both home right now,” snapped Daichi.

But Noya just laughed and pointed at the Hinata-and-Yamaguchi pretzel as the boys tried to untangle themselves. “Who is this kid? I like him.”

Noya glanced over towards Daichi for an answer and blinked in surprise as he registered Asahi. The two of them stared at each other for a moment, Asahi’s expression unreadable, Noya just startled.

The party went downhill from there.


	2. Li'l Darlin' (Count Basie, 1957, 1994 Remaster)

Kageyama’s arm caught Shouyou and redirected his movement, sending him back for another swing-out, and then another, and then another. Every time Kageyama swung him out into open position, Shouyou felt the stretch in their joined arms like an elastic band, and then again when Kageyama caught him around the back, Shouyou’s momentum pulling him into a stretch before Kageyama redirected him again—like taffy, like a rubber ball, like the  _ boing _ in Natsu’s sparkly hair bands when you pulled them between your fingers. The east mezzanine in the Science Complex where they were practicing whirled around him; Shouyou’s feet bounced like he was moving on a trampoline. He was grinning so hard his face hurt. Kageyama wasn’t smiling, because Kageyama never smiled, but his face had settled into the intense look he always got when he was really focused.

“Your swing-outs suck less now,” Kageyama announced when they stopped for a break. “You’re not adding energy anymore.”

“They feel awesome!” crowed Shouyou. “You just send me out like— _ pop! _ Let’s do some more!”

Kageyama hesitated, his grumpy face creased into an extra-grumpy frown. He appeared to be thinking something over. “Want to try a weight-supported dip?”

“Wow! Yes!”

“Okay, this one’s called a fall-back.” Kageyama fished his phone out of the pocket of his sweatpants and pulled up a video to illustrate. They watched it a few times, Kageyama pointing out the extra energy the lead gave in the prep, the way the follower kept her arms engaged, the footwork for the lead-in. “Got it?”

Shouyou nodded. He took Kageyama’s hand and felt the extra energy Kageyama put into the rock-step, letting it pop him forward as he jumped, twisted, and dropped.

Kageyama caught Shouyou under the armpits with a shout of surprise. “Ah! What the hell are you doing, dumbass?”

“Huh? What d’you mean? Isn’t that the move?” Shouyou asked in confusion, hopping back to his feet.

“Well  _ yeah _ , but—you can’t just— _ throw _ yourself at me!”

“Why not? That’s what she did in the video.” Had he missed something…? It wasn’t quite an aerial, but in the video there had definitely been a moment where the follower was sort of… floating, in between the entry and the catch. Shouyou had felt it himself in the pit of his stomach. It was amazing, just short of flying. Shouyou bounced on the balls of his feet, already eager to try it again.

“Yeah—but—like—you can’t just throw yourself around! What if I hadn’t caught you?”

Shouyou blinked. “But… you did catch me.”

“But you didn’t know I was going to!”

“Sure I did. You wouldn’t drop me,” said Shouyou. Kageyama had been the one to lead him into the fall-back, after all, so he’d known it was coming. And Kageyama was a really good dancer, even if Shouyou would much rather have all his teeth pulled out one-by-one with fencing pliers than say that out loud to Kageyama’s face. He knew how to do all sorts of dips and aerials and stuff.

“I might drop you!”

“You wouldn’t, though.” Ha! As if! Kageyama was too much of a perfectionist to ever mess up like that. Plus, if he dropped Shouyou, he would have to apologize, and Shouyou knew Kageyama would rather have all  _ his _ teeth pulled out one-by-one with fencing pliers than say sorry to Shouyou, because that would mean admitting he’d messed up.

Kageyama made a wordless noise of frustration and dragged his fingers through his hair. “Gah! You are so—most people hesitate the first time, okay? They don’t just go for it!”

Shouyou shrugged. “Well, it wouldn’t work right if I hesitated, and I knew you were going to catch me, so I just did it. Why are you being so weird?”

“I’m not being weird!  _ You’re _ being weird!” insisted Kageyama. His face was steadily flushing, going right through pink all the way to lobster-red, like an extremely irritable mood ring.

“No, you’re definitely being weird,” Shouyou decided. “Can we go again? How does the exit go?”

***

When Asahi stopped by the dance studio at Kawauchi Hall, Daichi and Kiyoko-san were at the front of the room, leading the rest of the team through the Tranky Doo. Daichi was calling out the steps over the music, as usual showing off his superhuman ability to dance and shout at the same time without going blue in the face and keeling over. Asahi hovered awkwardly in the doorway and watched for a minute. The team had spent a few weeks last year learning the choreo, so Suga, Tanaka, and Ennoshita were keeping up. So was the blond first-year—Asahi couldn’t remember his name—and the ballet dancer, although the blond looked bored and the ballet dancer was glowering at the back of Kiyoko-san’s head in a way that suggested he wasn’t having much fun either. The shortie, the one with freckles, and the tiny girl were… well, they were trying. Enthusiastically, in the shortie’s case.

Asahi bit his lip and wondered why he’d bothered coming. He hadn’t been to a team practice or a social dance in ages. He’d probably forgotten everything by now. And even though the music pulsing from the studio’s stereo had him tapping his foot, the thought of joining in tightened the knot of anxiety that resided permanently in the pit of his stomach.

It wasn’t the  _ existence _ of the anxiety that bothered him, per se. He was always anxious about something or other. And some aspects of dancing had always made him nervous—asking strangers to dance at socials, leading moves that just didn’t work out, the heart-pounding stage fright that went along with performing in front of people, the knowledge that Noya could get badly hurt if Asahi messed up an aerial or twisted his arm too fast. No, he was used to that—but it used to be that the sheer joy of dancing outweighed all that, the satisfaction of leading a good swing-out or a nice stop, the incomparable delight when you improvised something new and it just worked. Since his last competition, though—he was still trying not to think too hard about it—that had flipped. The anxiety swallowed up all the good stuff so that it was all he could focus on, and then dancing wasn’t fun anymore.

Watching the team now, though, he almost wanted to…

No, no—coming here had been a mistake. No one had noticed him, so he could just—

The song ended just as he turned to go. The timing was unfortunate, because the last thing he saw was Daichi turning to look right at him. Asahi started power-walking down the hall in the most casual way possible, hoping naively that Daichi hadn’t recognized him, but Daichi came sprinting after him.

“Hey! Asahi!”

“I’m not here to dance,” Asahi said, still power-walking purposefully towards the exit. Daichi grabbed his arm, his grip firm enough that Asahi was forced to stop if he didn’t want to drag Daichi along with him.

“It’s good to see you,” said Daichi. 

“I was just passing by,” Asahi said, which was an outright lie. His college was a twenty-minute bus ride across the city. He’d only ever come to Aobayama Campus for practice.

Daichi looked skeptical, but politely refrained from calling bullshit. “Want to come in, since you’re here? You don’t have to dance. You can just watch.”

“Actually, I should probably go…”

“Oh, okay,” said Daichi, and put on a smile that almost managed to hide his disappointment. “Well, it was nice to see you. You should come by again some time.”

“Maybe, yeah.”

“Well, see you around?”

“Yeah.” Asahi hesitated. “Um…”

Daichi waited.

“I guess… I could come in for a bit…” Asahi said cautiously.

***

“Captain, captain, look!” shouted Hinata. “Go, Kageyama!”

Daichi looked, just in time to see Kageyama lead Hinata into a frisbee spin, using the momentum of the bring-in to sweep Hinata up and around his body in a Dean Collins dip. From his upside-down position braced against Kageyama’s knee, Hinata grinned up at Daichi expectantly.

“Nice job, guys,” said Daichi, genuinely impressed. Kageyama’s form was perfect, which was unsurprising, but Hinata was solid too, even if his steps were still a little too big. Kageyama had even managed to extend his arms, which meant that the only thing holding Hinata in place right now was the combined efforts of their cores. Kageyama had been right; even though Hinata hadn’t been dancing long, his natural athleticism was a big asset. That, and the fact that he practiced with the single-minded determination of a student cramming for an exam.

“Oh wow, that’s so cool!” said Yachi, eyes wide. She looked at Daichi nervously; she had yet to lose her shyness around the upper-years. “Um, do you think we could learn that sometime?”

“Sure, if everyone’s comfortable with it, and if Kageyama’s willing to teach,” said Daichi. He snuck a glance at the back of the room, where Asahi had been sitting on the floor for the last half-hour of their practice. Asahi was doing a good job of pretending to be engrossed by his phone right now, but Daichi was pretty sure he’d been watching Kageyama and Hinata a second ago.

He was also pretty sure that on their break, Tanaka had immediately grabbed his phone to text Noya, which probably meant Asahi was in for an evening of the unique blend of pestering, whining, and intimidation that only Noya could provide. Poor guy. Well, Asahi kind of deserved it. But still, poor guy.

In the five seconds Daichi had stopped paying attention to them, Hinata and Kageyama had somehow managed to move on from basking in the satisfaction of their dip to arguing over the right way to eat yakitori. Daichi sighed, and was just readying himself to intervene before things got violent, when someone tapped him on the shoulder.

“Your lock-turns were looking good today, captain,” said Suga, smiling. All thoughts of the yakitori fight and its possible body count immediately vacated Daichi’s head. “Very sharp.”

“Thanks,” said Daichi, hoping he wasn’t going red, knowing he was.

“Before you go, I wanted to ask… Noya showed me some balboa a while back, so I was wondering if you might want to do it together sometime.” Suga cleared his throat. “You know, when we practice on our own.”

“Oh,” said Daichi, and swallowed. Balboa was danced in close-hold. It had… body contact. The likelihood that Daichi would do something embarrassing, like have a heart attack and straight up die, seemed extremely high.

Suga, completely misinterpreting Daichi’s silence, added, “If you don’t want to, that’s totally—”

“No, no, I’d love to do you,” Daichi said hastily.

Suga stared at him.

“To do balboa with you,” Daichi scrambled to amend. “I’d love to do that. Balboa. Yeah.”

If he asked  _ very _ nicely, would Asahi put him out of his misery by breaking his neck or something? Probably not. Underneath all the muscle and the man-bun and the intimidating beard, Asahi was as squishy as an overripe grape. Still, at this point, there was no harm in asking.

“Great!” said Suga, and laughed, as if Daichi hadn’t just Freudian slipped all over him. “I’ll see if Noya will help us out. He only follows for bal, though—it’s too bad, that, you know…” He jerked his head towards Asahi, who was now being accosted by Hinata and looking mildly embarrassed about it, the yakitori debate having been apparently resolved without bloodshed.

“I can lead balboa,” said Kageyama, looming over them, and both of them jumped. Daichi hadn’t even heard him approach, and the wide-eyed look on Suga’ face suggested he hadn’t noticed Kageyama lurking either. Ballet had apparently turned Kageyama into a graceful, toned stealth demon.

“Oh! Well, if you don’t mind helping Noya teach us, that would be great,” said Suga, who was the first to recover.

“Okay,” said Kageyama. Then he turned to Daichi. “If I do a low-down, Hinata can clear my head doing a backflip from a standing jump.”

“Uh… okay,” said Daichi. The lingering embarrassment of letting his subconscious commandeer his mouth to inappropriately proposition Suga meant that the full impact of Kageyama’s words took a moment to register. “Wait, he can? What the hell? How low are your low-downs?”

Kageyama shrugged and dropped down to demonstrate, his right knee bending, his left leg sliding out straight, his arms poised in an attitude better suited to  _ Swan Lake _ than vernacular jazz. He was low, but not  _ that _ low. Daichi tried to envision flipping over his head—flipping over his head  _ from standing _ —and drew a blank. The only image his imagination could generate involved him nailing Kageyama in the spinal column with his knees and eating total shit. And Daichi was almost as tall as Kageyama, where Hinata was  _ tiny _ . What the  _ hell _ ?

"Is that what you guys have been practicing?" Daichi demanded. "Did you have spotters? Were you using crashpads? You of all people should know better, Kageyama, that's incredibly—"

Kageyama looked taken aback. "No, I know that. We weren’t practicing it on purpose, it was just an accident," he explained, his tone indicating that he somehow expected this to reassure Daichi.

“An  _ accident? _ ” said Suga.

“Yeah,” said Kageyama, and offered no further explanation. “We could do it in the choreo if you’re adding tricks. I just wanted to tell you. Anyway, see you tomorrow.”

Daichi and Suga watched Kageyama walk over to the back of the room where he’d left his bag, both of them too stunned to speak.

“Huh,” Suga said eventually, as they watched Kageyama unlacing his shoes.

“They’re not human,” Daichi decided. Hinata left off bugging Asahi for a moment to turn and say something to Kageyama; Kageyama responded by hurling his shoe right at Hinata’s head. “I don’t know what they are, but they’re definitely not human.”

***

Asahi was not entirely surprised to find Noya lurking around the main entrance to his high-rise when he got home that night. Noya was still wearing his Karasuno Café uniform—even the apron—and under the streetlights, his face glowed with a sheen of sweat. He looked like he’d run all the way here the second his shift ended. Asahi wasn’t surprised by that, either. Once Noya got an idea into his head, the only thing that could dissuade him from following through was Daichi using his scary voice on him, and even then, not always.

That was kind of the problem.

Asahi contemplated turning right back around and hanging around the konbini on the corner, feigning interest in cold soba bentos until Noya eventually gave up. But that could take hours, knowing Noya. And, if Asahi was being honest with himself, he was sick of trying to avoid him. Noya was a lot, but they’d been friends a long time, and dance partners even longer, and Asahi missed him.

And, okay, he missed dancing with him, too. He’d tried to slip out at the end of practice this evening without anyone noticing him—not easy, when you were six feet tall—but that shrimpy first-year, Hinata, had cornered him first. With an intensity Asahi had assumed to be reserved for high-profile police interrogations involving extremely violent crimes, Hinata had demanded to know how to do the crazy aerial sequence that Asahi and Noya had done in their showcase choreo from the Sendai Showdown two years ago. It wasn’t anything special, just a bunch of moves he and Noya had stitched together when they’d been fooling around one day. Noya liked to call it Rolling Thunder, because he was melodramatic, but everyone else just called it the Yuu-and-Asahi. Asahi had been pretty proud of that.

On a whim, Asahi had watched the video of their performance on the train home. They’d won the short showcase that year. Not that that was a big deal or anything—the Sendai Showdown was just a small competition, not like Swing Out Tokyo and nowhere near Seoul Lindyfest. But still, they’d won. More importantly, Asahi had come off the floor after their performance grinning, feeling pretty good about himself, and he’d been able to watch the recording on YouTube after without cringing, which was nice. He’d felt so bad after their disastrous Swing Out Tokyo performance a few months back that he’d basically forgotten about every other performance he’d ever done.

Asahi took a few deep breaths, like his mom had always told him to do when he was nervous, and forced himself to walk up to the front door of his building. “Hey,” he said.

Noya narrowed his eyes. “Really, Azumane? You ghost me for four months and all you can say is  _ hey _ ?”

Asahi shrugged. “Are you coming in?”

“Duh.”

In his tiny apartment, Noya hopped up onto his usual spot on Asahi’s kitchen counter (Asahi assumed he liked to sit there because it made him feel tall).

“Do you want a drink?” Asahi asked. Noya nodded, kicking his heels idly against the cupboards, and Asahi handed him a melon soda from the fridge. He didn’t like them much himself, but they were practically all Noya drank, so he always kept a few around.

“So you went to practice today?” said Noya as he popped the tab on the can.

“Yeah, I just watched, though.” To avoid looking at Noya, who was definitely making his angry-housecat-whose-tail-just-got-stepped-on face right now, Asahi picked up a block of tofu from his fridge and moved it to another shelf. He studied it for a moment, then picked it up and put it back in its original spot.

“So, are you coming back, or what?”

“I don’t know,” Asahi admitted. Watching everyone at practice today, listening to the music, he’d sort of wanted to join in. And then watching Hinata and the grumpy kid doing the Dean Collins, he’d thought about dancing with Noya—they did that dip all the time—and then the way Hinata had talked to him after, like he was so  _ cool _ —he wasn’t, he knew he wasn’t, but…

Suga had said they were doing a choreo for the Showdown this year, a team thing. Asahi had never competed with a team, only with Noya, and a couple of times by himself in mix-and-matches, although those always stressed him out. Daichi had a solid line-up for the team this year, too. On the other hand—

A socked foot connected with his butt, and Asahi jumped. “Leave the tofu alone, you big dummy. You miss dancing, right? I don’t care if you don’t want to dance together anymore, but—”

“What? Why wouldn’t I—I never said—”

Noya scowled and turned to stare out Asahi’s kitchen window, which offered a lovely view onto the brick wall of the building next door. “Well, I mean, what else was I supposed to think?”

“It wasn’t like that—”

“Oh yeah? That would’ve been nice to know  _ four months ago _ —”

“It wasn’t about you!”

“Yes, it was!” Noya exclaimed. “You  _ made _ it about me! We’re supposed to be partners! I don’t even know what happened! So you got nervous in the Tokyo showcase and flubbed some stuff, so what? Who cares?”

“ _ You _ cared! You were pissed at me!”

“For, like, five minutes! Then I got over it! Yeah, okay, I was bummed that you bailed on the aerials, but it was one performance. I just—gah!” Noya smacked his forehead in frustration and spent a moment contemplating the ceiling. When he looked at Asahi again, he seemed marginally calmer. “Look, you know I don’t get nervous like you, so I don’t really get it. But we’re a team when we go up there together, right? Just ‘cause you’re leading doesn’t mean it’s all on you. And seriously, I don’t care if we screw up. I don’t care if we get out on the floor and you forget every single move you’ve ever learned and just stand there holding my hand like an idiot for three minutes. I don’t care if you drop me on my head—”

“Uh, you should probably care about that,” said Asahi.

“Okay, I don’t care if you drop me on my head as long as there’s no long-term brain damage,” Noya conceded. “Swing Out Tokyo was  _ one _ performance, Asahi. If you want to take a break from competing, fine. I just like dancing with you. And, y’know, seeing your stupid tough-guy face around once in a while, and stuff.”

Asahi didn’t say anything.

“Are you crying?” Noya rolled his eyes. “Of course you’re crying—”

“I’m not crying!” Asahi protested, with only a very small sniffle. Noya sighed, but he sipped at his soda and pulled out his phone, politely giving Asahi a few minutes to collect himself.

When Asahi was fairly confident in his ability to speak without his voice cracking like a thirteen-year-old, he cleared his throat and said, “Sorry. You’re right.”

“Duh. I’m always right.” Noya kicked him again, but he was grinning. “So? You want in on this team thing Daichi’s doing, or what? Tanaka says there’s a ballerina kid on the team this year, and that little guy Shouyou who jumps like a kangaroo. Sounds like fun, right?”

“Yeah, it does,” Asahi admitted.

He thought of doing Rolling Thunder with Noya at the Showdown, and of practicing swing-outs with Daichi and Suga, and of solo jams with Tanaka, and of dancing unbearably fast shag at one in the morning at socials, and of dancing the laziest balboa in the world at two in the morning when he was too exhausted to dance shag anymore.

“Okay, yeah,” Asahi said. “I’m in, if you are.”

Noya let out a whoop and punched the air, spilling soda all over Asahi’s counter. “Yes! We’re back, baby! Hey, hey, have you seen the videos from ILHC this year? There was this L.A. couple in the Strictly who did this sweet-ass sugar push combo thing, we’ve gotta try it—”

“Um, we might need to ease back into it,” said Asahi, before Noya got ahead of himself.

“Geez, it’s not  _ my _ fault you slacked off for four months.”

“I know, I know. Uh, but, maybe you can send me the video…”

Noya grinned. “Of course, man. Oh, you know what Suga-san texted me today? He wants me to teach him and Daichi-san some balboa.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “You know what that means…”

“That we can finally dance bal with them…?”

“No, stupid, it means they’re gonna be cuddled up  _ real _ close… a couple of dudes who desperately wanna bone each other… who knows what could happen…”

Asahi, never more certain in his life that he had completely misheard something, said, “Um… what?”

Noya snorted. “Dude, come on. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed. They’re totally into each other.” He cocked his head thoughtfully to the side. “At least, Suga-san’s definitely into Daichi-san—”

“He… is?” said Asahi.

“Duh. Remember the beach last summer, that hot lifeguard lady who was totally hitting on Daichi? Ooooh, Suga-san was so jealous. I’ve never seen him so bitchy.”

“You mean the day he got heatstroke?” Asahi asked dubiously. He  _ did _ remember the beach last summer, and he  _ vaguely _ remembered the lifeguard talking to Daichi, and he  _ definitely _ remembered Suga having a six-hour nap at Asahi’s apartment immediately afterward as he slept off all the sun. Even so, he wouldn’t have classified Suga as  _ bitchy _ , hot lifeguard lady and sun exposure notwithstanding. He didn’t think Suga had a bitchy bone in his body, not even any of the very tiny inner ear bones.

“It was  _ passionate jealousy,  _ Asahi. I’m telling you,” said Noya.

“I’m pretty sure it was heatstroke,” said Asahi.

“Don’t be so boring! Besides, he’s all flirty and stuff all the time too, like  _ ooh, captain, I need your manly hands to help me stretch out my thighs— _ ”

“He never says that,” said Asahi.

“I don’t know about the captain, though,” Noya went on, ignoring Asahi’s inconvenient effort to anchor his romantic conspiracy theories to reality. “He’s such a gentleman all the time. Except when he’s yelling.  _ But _ he never yells at Suga-san, have you noticed? Maybe that’s it.”

“I’m not sure that means they want to… ” _Bone_ , said his inner Noya, and Asahi cringed; he really _didn’t_ want that thought echoing in his head every time he saw Daichi and Suga, who happened to be, aside from Noya, his two best friends. Asahi tried again and settled for saying vaguely, “I’m not sure that means anything. Anyway, I wouldn’t exactly call balboa romantic.”

“Wow, Asahi. You saying you don’t feel anything when we do bal? No spark? No flame? No spicy sizzle?”

“Well, sometimes I feel you stepping on my feet…”

Noya tossed his now-empty soda can at Asahi’s head. “Ah, shut up! It was just the stupid paddle turns! I’ve figured them out now!”

***

Daichi groaned, his head dropping onto the table with a  _ thunk  _ that made the couple sitting behind him look around in alarm. Karasuno was packed today; they hadn’t even been able to grab their usual spot, and between Noya taking customers’ orders and getting yelled at by his manager, he had been too busy to do more than wave at them from behind the counter. “This is impossible. I had no idea choreographing was so  _ hard _ ,” Daichi mumbled into the table. “How the hell do Asahi and Noya do it?”

“I don’t know, man. Noya says—sorry, ladies”—Tanaka paused to scooch his chair in as a trio of girls tried to inch past behind him—“Noya says he and Asahi just pick a song, put it on a loop, and mess around for a couple hours until things start to click.”

“Hmm. I don’t really know how we’d do that for the whole team, though, if we wanted to do formations,” Suga said thoughtfully. Daichi let his head roll to the side so he could look at Suga as he spoke, but he just as quickly looked away again. Presumably because Suga hated Daichi and delighted in tormenting him—this was the only explanation Daichi could think of—Suga had decided to wear  _ that _ sweater, the one with the baby-blue-and-white stripes, the one where he rolled up the sleeves to show off his nice wrists, the one that made his grey hair look extra soft and fluffy. Every time Daichi looked at him, another part of his brain overheated and died.

“Maybe—” Tanaka began, but he was interrupted by a tremendous crash of breaking glass, followed almost immediately by Noya’s manager screaming, “ _ Nishinoya, what the hell was that? _ ”

Daichi and Suga winced, but Tanaka’s eyes had gone wide, and the grin spreading slowly across his face announced that he’d had an idea. “ _ I _ know what we should do,” Tanaka announced.

“What?” Daichi asked warily. Tanaka’s last idea had been the party at Ennoshita’s place. Asahi had made an awkward departure within five minutes of Noya’s arrival; Noya, obviously hurt, had proceeded to shotgun four beers before challenging an irritated Tsukishima to a hand-stand contest, which had ended with Noya’s foot putting a dent in the wall, Yachi on the verge of hysterics, and Ennoshita kicking them all out.

“We should ask Ukai-san to help us!” Tanaka said, as if this was obvious. He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms, looking pleased with himself.

Daichi and Suga exchanged a glance, confusion temporarily overriding Daichi’s sweater-induced total system failure. “Ukai-san?” said Suga. “You mean… Noya’s boss?”

“Noya’s boss who goes to Seoul, like, every other weekend to dance? Noya’s boss whose grandpa danced in America back in the day and ran a studio in Tokyo? Yeah, man. That’s exactly who I mean.” Daichi and Suga stared at him, and Tanaka’s expression grew incredulous. “Wait, for real, you guys didn’t know? Dude, how did you think Noya got his job here? He’s, like, the shittiest barista in the universe.”

“That’s true,” Suga admitted. He picked up his mug and eyed it skeptically. “I think he forgot the coffee in my cappuccino. This is just foamed milk.”

“Just because Ukai-san goes dancing in Seoul with Noya and Asahi doesn’t mean he’ll want to help us choreograph, though,” said Daichi.

“Well, there’s no harm in asking,” said Suga. The three of them turned to look at the counter, where Ukai-san was red in the face with fury as he lectured Noya, who was grumbling and cleaning up broken glass from the floor. “Although I think maybe we should wait until he’s calmed down a bit…”

***

Thursday was unseasonably hot. This early in the year, the school had yet to turn on its air conditioning, which meant that Dance Studio #3 in Kawauchi Hall was an absolute sauna. The Tohoku University Swing Dance Team sweated quietly while they stretched, thinking without much enthusiasm about how much sweatier they would become once Daichi made them start dancing.

Suga had come prepared. He was wearing a tank top. It was just a plain old tank top, nothing special, certainly nothing scandalous, not when Asahi compared it to, for instance, the neon green crop top Noya had worn to the social dance on Friday (“The people deserve to see these sweet abs. I’m doing a public service,” Noya had claimed, as he slapped his own bare stomach for illustrative purposes). But Asahi noticed Noya and Tanaka sniggering about something, and that made him glance over at Daichi. Asahi had, unfortunately, been unable to dismiss what Noya had theorized about Daichi and Suga, the idea buzzing around his mind insistently, like a frustratingly resilient mosquito. When someone said two of your closest friends wanted to— _ bone _ , said his Inner Noya—uh, had feelings for each other, you had to check for yourself, if only to discredit the rumour.

And for the most part, Daichi and Suga had just been, well, Daichi and Suga. They were close, sure, but so what? Asahi and Noya were close too, and no one thought anything like  _ that _ about them. Up until this exact moment, Asahi had been increasingly certain that Noya’s own disappointing love life had led him into wild and unfounded romantic speculation.

But right now, Daichi was staring at Suga like a small woodland animal caught in the fatal, hungry gaze of a sharp-toothed predator—which was odd, because Suga was definitely at least twenty pounds lighter than Daichi, and was also in the midst of the fundamentally unthreatening act of giving Yachi a Band-Aid for a blister on her heel.

“You’re, uh, wearing a tank top,” said Daichi, when Suga straightened up, and Asahi thought  _ Daichi, come on, we all used to change together for gym class, you’ve seen him fully naked before. _ Asahi was forced to assume that the sight of Suga’s bare shoulders, dotted with beauty spots, had come as a bit of a system shock after a full winter of Suga’s collection of rotating pastel sweaters.

Suga smiled and glanced down at his shirt, as if just noticing himself for the first time. “Yes—all the better for you to admire my poorly defined shoulders, you know.”

Daichi blinked. He opened his mouth, then closed it again without saying anything. He looked stunned, as if Suga’s poorly defined shoulders had just punched him in the face.

“I’m kidding,” said Suga, his smile wavering slightly. “It was just hot. You don’t have to—”

“No, no, sorry, I didn’t mean—I wasn’t—not that I  _ was _ , but—they’re—your shoulders are fine,” Daichi concluded, somewhat incoherently. “I’m—I have to go—refill my water bottle. WE’RE STARTING IN FIVE, GUYS!”

Asahi forced himself to refocus on stretching out his calves, which was difficult, because most of his brain was preoccupied with the difficult realization that  _ Noya had been right _ . Well—half right. He’d gotten it backwards. It was obvious— _ so _ obvious, now that it had occurred to Asahi to look for it—that Daichi wanted to— _ boooooooone, _ said Inner Noya—that Daichi  _ liked _ Suga. People didn’t just go around having meltdowns over their best friends’ naked shoulders in a platonic way—especially not Daichi, who, in Asahi’s experience, never had meltdowns over  _ anything _ . But Suga… Asahi wasn’t so sure. What Noya termed  _ flirting _ , Asahi was more inclined to consider just Suga being Suga. And that had the potential to be  _ extremely _ awkward.

Asahi leaned into his stretch a little more, until his muscles were burning, and tried not to panic. He’d started dancing again because he missed dancing, but also because he missed his friends. He didn’t really want to come back only for things to implode horribly.

Later, he stopped by Noya’s work for a coffee, and couldn’t help mentioning (agonizing over) his concerns. Before he’d had a chance to descend too far into the depths of existential angst, though, Noya rolled his eyes, flipped a dish towel over his shoulder with a decisive  _ snap _ , and said, “Relax, Asahi. Suga-san is gay for sure.”

“Why? Because he was slightly less cheerful than normal  _ one time _ when Daichi was talking to a girl?” Asahi demanded. “That doesn’t mean anything!”

Noya leaned forward across the bar and lowered his voice conspiratorially, so that Asahi had to bend down to hear him. He said, “Sometimes when Suga-san sits… he crosses his ankles.”

Asahi waited, expecting more, but Noya had already straightened up again, looking pleased with himself. Asahi said, “So?”

“Means he’s gay,” said Noya, the confidence of his tone greatly odds with the utter bullshit his words conveyed.

“ _ What? _ That’s stupid!”

“It’s science.”

“It’s not science!”

“That’s what they said about evolution, and look at us now. All evolved and shit.”

“It’s—that’s not—” Asahi forced himself to take a deep breath. Suga had once observed that Asahi never stammered much around Noya; it was true, but mostly because keeping up with Noya in conversation required the elimination of all moments of hesitation or signs of weakness. “ _ You _ cross your ankles when you sit sometimes,” Asahi pointed out.

“And I would totally kiss a dude, if the dude were hot,” said Noya, as if this should be obvious. “What about me makes you think I wouldn’t? I’d kiss you right here, right now if you weren’t so stupid tall. So there you go. Case closed.”

***

It was Saturday afternoon, the sun was shining, and Shouyou and Kageyama were sprawled on the lawn at Nishi Park, just barely shy of comatose. They’d been out practicing together for—five hours already? Six? Shouyou had sort of lost track. His lungs burned like someone had poured hot curry sauce down his nose. As soon as he tried to bike home, he was definitely going to die. There was no doubt about it. His mom would be so disappointed.

Something smacked him in the side of the head—Kageyama’s water bottle. “Yours… is… empty,” Kageyama panted.

“Thanks,” said Shouyou. He took a few sips, then held the water bottle up over his head and stared at it. The plastic was old and obviously well-used, but he could still make out the silhouette of a woman doing an arabesque next to the name of some dance studio. “Hey, Kageyama?”

“Yeah?”

“D’you still do ballet at all?”

“Sometimes. Not much.”

“How come you stopped?”

“I don’t know. I just did. I started doing lindy and I liked it better, I guess.”

“How come you liked lindy better?”

Kageyama heaved himself up onto his elbows just so he could glower at Shouyou. “What’s with all the questions? I don’t know! I just liked it better.” His head tipped back and he spent a few seconds contemplating the fluffy clouds drifting across the sky. “I like the improvisation, and the energy. Stuff like that.”

Shouyou lurched upright, grinning. “I like the energy too! I saw that  _ Hellzapoppin’ _ clip on a field trip in high school, and it was like— _ fwoosh! Bam!  _ You know? The dancers are flying all over the place! I wanna fly like that.”

“Yeah? Well, you have to stop anticipating all my leads first.”

“Suga-san said I was getting way better!” Shouyou protested. “Anyway, what’s the big deal as long as I do the move you’re trying to lead?”

“Dumbass! It makes the energy feel weird. And it messes with the connection.”

“Okay, okay…” Shouyou sagged back down onto the grass, rolling Kageyama’s water bottle between his palms. “Hey, Kageyama?”

“ _ What? _ ”

“You know that girl you were dancing with in Tokyo when I met you? Did you ever compete with her?

“No. She competed with someone else, her regular practice partner. Someone I’d—” Kageyama seemed to stop himself. “Just—with someone else.”

“So you’ve never done strictlys and showcases and stuff before?”

“No.”

“How come?”

Kageyama was silent for so long that Shouyou almost thought he hadn’t heard him, even though they were lying right beside each other and the park wasn’t too noisy. He was just about to repeat himself when Kageyama finally muttered, “Didn’t have a partner.”

“Oh, ‘cause your personality sucks?” said Shouyou. Actually, that made a lot of sense.

“Shut up! My personality is fine!”

“No, it sucks.” Shouyou reached over and patted Kageyama’s head until Kageyama smacked his hand away. “It’s okay, I don’t mind. Hey, maybe we can do a strictly together sometime! You can Frankie Flip me! We’ll be like Asahi and Noya!”

“Pff. You’re nowhere near as good as Noya-san. But I guess maybe we could try it sometime,” said Kageyama. His reluctance almost succeeded in masking how pleased he sounded. Almost. But not quite.

***

Oikawa Tooru was dancing with Suga. Again. Which was fine. It was totally, completely fine. Oikawa was a fantastic dancer. Much better than Daichi. He danced with the same ethereal grace as Kageyama, but with a better pulse, and he led amazing swing-outs. Daichi watched from the edge of the dance floor as Oikawa led one on Suga now, over-rotating him into switches, bringing him in, sending him into a frisbee spin, whirling him around in a ballroom turn, at which point they disappeared behind another couple. Even though the Sendai swing scene was small, the minimal square footage of the studio space the Sendai Swing Dance Society rented every Friday for its social dances meant the floor was usually packed.

Daichi’s foot tapped along to the music of its own accord—the DJ had put on Count Basie, something with a good groove, upbeat but not too fast. Suga loved Count Basie. And he loved dancing to mid-tempo music. When Oikawa and Suga reappeared, Oikawa was in the middle of swinging Suga out again, spinning him around in a Texas Tommy, and Suga was grinning. Daichi forced himself to look away before he suffocated under the sheer gravitational force of his completely unwarranted jealousy.

He managed to distract himself for a minute by watching Hinata over-enthusiastically leading Yachi, but then Oikawa and Suga danced right up to them. Hinata waved at Suga; Suga waved back, but ended up stumbling out of the spin Oikawa had tried to lead on him. Suga’s following had been getting much better lately, especially now that Asahi was back at practice, but he still mostly led. Suga smacked a hand to his forehead and said something to Oikawa, who laughed and took Suga’s hand again. When the song ended (Oikawa, with his stupid perfect timing and stupid perfect posture, led Suga into a tango dip to finish it off), Daichi waited for the two of them to drift off to find new partners, but they started talking, and then Suga settled in at Oikawa’s side again as the next song started up. Daichi sighed.

He’d never received any particular indication that Suga liked guys, but then again, he’d also never received any particular indication that Suga liked girls, either. If he’d had crushes, he’d never talked about them. But if Suga  _ was _ going to want to date a guy, Oikawa Tooru seemed like a logical choice. He was very attractive—just because  _ Daichi _ wasn’t allured didn’t mean he was blind—and he was friendly, like Suga, although maybe  _ devastatingly charismatic _ was a more accurate descriptor. Oikawa Tooru was also the only person regularly capable of getting Suga fall-down drunk, which Suga for some reason seemed to consider a good time, so he was apparently fun, too.

“Aw, cheer up, captain,” said Noya, throwing himself down in the chair beside Daichi. Asahi collapsed on Daichi’s other side, looking winded. Wisps of hair had escaped from his bun and were clinging to his sweaty neck. “What’s Oikawa got that you don’t?”

“He can kick higher than his head,” said Kageyama, who had once again been lurking silent and unnoticed nearby. He glanced down at Daichi. “I don’t think you can do that.”

“Uh… no, I can’t,” said Daichi. He watched Oikawa and Suga doing charleston together. Oikawa’s kicks weren’t too high right now, but the way he moved did suggest a lot of hip mobility.

“Do you know him, Kageyama?” asked Asahi. “You started out dancing in Tokyo, right?”

“Yeah, we did ballet together before he hurt his knee. He got me into swing, actually.” Kageyama frowned, as if something about the memory troubled him. Hmm. Oikawa came down from Tokyo every few weeks to see his friends in Sendai, but Daichi had never seen him and Kageyama dancing together at the socials, or even talking. If they had been friends once, they didn’t seem to be anymore. Then Kageyama turned his attention back to Daichi and added, “He can do a full split too. He does it in routines sometimes. I don’t think you can do that, either.”

“Nope,” said Daichi, feeling better about himself by the second. Oikawa led Suga into a very close tandem charleston. They were practically cuddling. What a wonderful way to spend his Friday night, watching Suga snuggling up to a charming, handsome man who was not only a better dancer than Daichi but also, apparently, had the body of a professional gymnast. Maybe if Daichi started doing yoga or something…? No, it was probably better just to give up now, and hope that Suga would be kind enough to dance with Daichi once or twice at the reception of his beautiful, inevitable jazz wedding to Oikawa. That was fine.

“So what if Oikawa can do the splits?” said Noya. “You’ve got lots going for you, captain! Like, you’re… hmm… you’ve got… uh… a nice… well, you have nice shoes, whereas… uh…. crap, I can’t think of anything—Asahi, help me out here—”

“Um, um,” said Asahi, panicking. “You live here?”

“Thanks, guys,” said Daichi.

“What’s that got to do with anything? Aren’t you just worried about competing against Oikawa’s team in the Showdown?” Kageyama asked blankly.

“Yeah, that’s exactly it,” said Noya. He popped out of his chair and grabbed Kageyama’s hand. “Hey, let’s go dance. Mr. Four-Month-Hiatus over there has to ‘take a break’ because he’s ‘tired’ or whatever.”

“You keep making me do shag! Of course I’m tired!” Asahi protested, but Noya just stuck his tongue out at him while he tugged Kageyama out onto the dance floor.

When they’d gone, Asahi turned to Daichi and asked, “You doing okay, man?”

Daichi sighed and let his head drop into his hands. “Am I really that obvious?”

“Kind of, yeah. I mean, um, no, not really,” Asahi corrected hastily, when Daichi glared at him. “So, um, I guess that means you’re… that you, you know… ah… that you’re… um… interested in… guys…?”

“I mean, girls too. I think. But. I guess, yeah.” Daichi couldn’t quite bring himself to look at Asahi. “And you’re… I mean… okay with that…?”

Intellectually, he knew Asahi, of all people, wouldn’t care. Every dancer in Sendai, and probably most of the ones in Tokyo, knew, or at least suspected, about him and Noya, even if Asahi had never said anything outright to Daichi himself (which Daichi was not at all hurt by, even though they were friends, because it was Asahi’s business who he wanted to talk to about his romantic life,  _ even though they were friends _ ). But still. Having it out in the open, even just with Asahi (and, apparently, Noya?), was nerve-wracking. Daichi danced with a lot of guys at socials. He didn’t want anyone feeling weird about it. He didn’t think anyone would, but then again he also hadn’t thought he was allergic to kiwis until his mom put one in his lunch on the first day of second year in high school, and look where that had gotten him.

In this case, of course, he hadn’t needed to worry, because Asahi fell over himself in his rush to offer reassurance. “Oh, yeah, no, I mean yeah, that’s, no, I’m not, you know, I think it’s fine that you, um… it’s totally… I mean, lots of people… um, anyway…”

“It’s okay, you can stop,” said Daichi, and Asahi’s huge shoulders sagged with relief. “I figured. But thanks.”

They watched the dancers without saying anything else for a while, Daichi forcing himself to focus on Kageyama and Noya’s fast swing-outs instead of Suga and Oikawa. Eventually, though, with an air of caution that suggested he had spent the past few minutes agonizing about whether or not he should say anything else, Asahi leaned over and said, “Are you going to tell Suga that you want to… that you have, um, feelings for him?”

“I don’t know,” Daichi said. He’d had this exact conversation with himself, many times, constantly flip-flopping back and forth, committed to coming clean one moment, resolving to take it to his grave the next. “We’re friends. And we dance together all the time. And now we’re competing together. I don’t want to make him uncomfortable—”

“Make who uncomfortable?” asked Suga, and Daichi’s stomach lurched as if he’d just missed a step going down the Kawauchi Hall stairs. Crap. He hadn’t even noticed the song ending.

“No one. Nothing,” Daichi said quickly. “Uh, you looked good out there. I mean—your dancing looked good.”

Suga fanned at his face, glowing with perspiration and grinning happily. “Thanks! Wow, I think Oikawa’s gotten even better since I last saw him! Hey, Asahi, did you want to dance?”

“Uh,” said Asahi, who was making a very earnest and, unfortunately, obvious effort to avoid looking at Daichi. “No thanks, I’m sitting this one out. Later?”

“Yeah, sure! Daichi?”

Daichi followed Suga out onto the dance floor and settled into position beside him, his hand on Suga’s bicep, Suga’s hand resting on the small of his back. Suga’s t-shirt was damp with sweat, and Daichi was self-consciously aware that he wasn’t much better—though not as bad as Asahi, who had looked like he’d just climbed out of the Hirose River when he’d staggered over to Daichi with Noya earlier.

“I like this shirt on you,” Suga said. His fingers clenched gently in the fabric of Daichi’s shirt, unsticking it from his back for a moment before his grip loosened again. “It looks nice.”

“Ah, um, thanks,” said Daichi. He had spent a lot of time dancing with Suga over the past three years—in team practices, at socials, when they practiced together on their own. He liked to think he’d gotten pretty good at suppressing the physiological and psychological effects of having a crush when they danced; it helped that his brain flipped into a different mode when the music came, focusing on the rhythm, the connection, the movement. Sometimes, though, it seemed like Suga was going out of his way to make things difficult for him.

Daichi looked over to the table where Kiyoko-san was taking a shift as DJ.  _ A fast song _ , he thought, attempting to awaken any untapped telepathic powers that might have been lying dormant for the past twenty-one years,  _ put on another fast song, so I can just focus on dancing… _

Kiyoko-san met his gaze across the room, he could have sworn it. Then, because she was apparently a sadist who held a personal vendetta against Daichi and wanted him to die a slow, excruciating, and publicly humiliating death, she put on Li’l Darlin’. 

Suga laughed and said, “Oh, wow, this is really slow.”

“We can sit it out if you want,” said Daichi.

“I don’t mind. Um, unless you—?”

“I don’t mind either,” Daichi said quickly.

“Well, you know how bad I am at slow lindy, so please lower your expectations appropriately. I hope you’re ready to do a lot of touch-steps,” said Suga, smiling. He adjusted their hold so that they were facing each other, slightly offset, and very tentatively pulled Daichi in closer. “Is this okay, or…?”

“Yeah, it’s, that’s, yeah, fine,” said Daichi, immediately short-circuiting.

Suga grasped his free hand in a ballroom hold and took a few hesitant steps to the music. The benefit to the close hold was that Daichi didn’t have to make eye contact with Suga, which definitely would have flat-lined him. Instead, he stared over Suga’s shoulder, trying to focus on anything other than the fact that he was dancing chest to sweaty chest with Suga to music that sounded like sticky, sultry taffy. Behind Suga, Oikawa was dancing beautiful drag blues with one of the Swingers girls, while Noya and Tanaka goose-stepped their way through the most painfully slow charleston Daichi had ever seen before, both of them giggling like a couple of middle schoolers.

“Okay, in about ten seconds, I’m going to lead a turn,” said Suga, right by his ear.

“Thanks for the warning,” said Daichi.

“Yes, I’m very generous. I’m definitely not telling you now because I need an unbelievable amount of time to prepare for it, or because I don’t really know how to lead it properly.”

“Ah, right. So basically, you’re trying to make me do all the work for you?”

“Well, I wouldn’t have put it like  _ that _ … ready? Here we go—” Suga led Daichi in a slow spin, then brought him back in again. “Very nice. Well, that’s the only slow move I can lead, so I hope you liked it.”

“Maybe you can try leading it again in another forty seconds, once you’ve had a chance to recover,” said Daichi, grinning. This wasn’t so bad. It was Suga, after all. They’d been friends since high school, and they danced together all the time, even if they weren’t normally in such a close hold.

“I’ll work up to it,” Suga promised. “Actually, you know what? I’m feeling ambitious. I’m going to try a very small dip.”

“That  _ is _ ambit—oh—um—”

When Suga had shifted his weight forward to try the dip, his thigh had gone somewhere where Daichi had not really expected to feel anyone’s thigh tonight, let alone Suga’s. Daichi could probably have recovered from the shock, given a few years’ time and possibly the use of prescription drugs, if only it hadn’t been obvious that Suga had noticed as well. Suga stepped back quickly. “Ah! Sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine—”

“I didn’t realize—”

“No, that’s—”

“I thought you were—”

“Suga. It’s fine. Don’t worry about it,” said Daichi. He felt slightly light-headed.

“Right. Okay. Sorry.” Suga let out a self-conscious laugh. “And now I’ve just made it even more awkward, haven’t I?”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Daichi lied. But they didn’t say much for the rest of the song.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shag, balboa, and charleston are all dances in the swing family!
> 
> Shag exists in a couple of different styles (collegiate shag, St. Louis shag, Carolina shag). I think traditionally it was danced with a close chest-to-chest hold and very exaggerated ballroom-type hand hold where the hands are held way over the head, but some people today leave more space in the hold and a more relaxed hand-hold. This instructors' demo from LA Shagfest gives a sense of the movement: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=td8gTEcxgM4
> 
> Balboa is danced in a close hold and involves very small movements (no big kicks or anything). It developed in the 1920s on very crowded dance floors where there wasn’t much space to move around. “Pure bal” is danced entirely in close hold (check out the CalBal Pure Bal Classic for an example: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sgGJIYZGTAo ), whereas “bal-swing” involves spins and other moves where the close hold is broken (another CalBal example: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oRIhIIXN94s ).
> 
> There are 2 types of charleston, 1920s and 1930s. 20s is the classic flapper dancer with the twisty heels, typically danced solo (but can also be danced with a partner). 30s charleston is 20s charleston movement adapted by lindy hoppers and incorporated into lindy hop. Both involve a lot of kicking!
> 
> Also mentioned in this chapter is the Tranky Doo, which is a famous solo jazz choreography attributed to Frankie Manning. Here's an example of some instructors performing it at an event in Valencia: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rxl8x7KW2dc


	3. Big Apple Contest (The Solomon Douglas Swingtet, 2006)

When they were working through the Big Apple in practice on Monday, Noya leaned over, smacked Asahi’s arm, and nodded towards the door. Asahi, mid-jump charleston, looked over and saw Ukai-san leaning against the doorframe, watching the team with thinly veiled skepticism.

“JUMP CHARLESTON, JUMP CHARLESTON, BREAK, FISHTAILS—” Daichi called at the front of the room as the rest of the team struggled to keep up. Behind Daichi, Tsukishima and Kiyoko-san followed with effortless, quasi-robotic proficiency, but everyone else seemed to be struggling through the moves with the barely repressed panic of first-time rollerbladers hurtling down a mountain road. The only exception of note was Hinata, who was very confidently doing all the wrong moves. At least he was keeping time.

“Daichi, Daichi!” Suga said over the music, waving to get Daichi’s attention. “Sorry, can you go over the break into the partnered section once more?”

The rest of the team breathed a collective sigh of relief. If Suga was the one asking, Daichi would be nice about it.

“Feeling rusty, Mr. Four-Month-Hiatus?” Noya muttered as Daichi explained the break again.

“Hey, stop calling me that,” Asahi said half-heartedly. Noya was right, of course. Asahi had known the Big Apple at one point, but his body was making it very clear that he didn’t know it anymore. Noya was doing even worse than him, even though he’d been practicing by himself in the time Asahi had been out of the picture, but that was no surprise; when it came to choreo, Noya had the memory capacity of a slightly below-average goldfish.

Noya grinned and elbowed him in the ribs, hard enough to hurt. Then he glanced back over at Ukai-san. “He doesn’t look too impressed, does he?”

“No, he doesn’t,” said Asahi. He didn’t actually know Ukai-san that well; they’d met through the Seoul social scene during the year Asahi and Noya had lived there, but Noya was the outgoing one. He’d been the one to badger Ukai-san into coming by today, although neither of them had been confident Ukai-san would actually show up. Aside from Alisa-san, who coached the Swingers, Ukai-san was probably the closest thing Sendai had to a pro-level swing dancer, though he was too busy taking care of his grandfather to come out to the socials much.

In contrast, up until this year, the Tohoku University Swing Dance Team had never had more than six members at once. Most of its dancers had limited their commitment to showing up at practice every so often and going out to the socials once in a while. The team—such as it was—had never performed publicly. It had never competed. It had never choreographed an original routine. And it had always had the content of its practices guided around the informal principle of the weekly “so what do you guys feel like working on?” survey or, when member participation was lackluster, just doing whatever the hell the team’s captain felt like working on. Daichi hadn’t overhauled the team’s structure or anything when he became captain, but he’d done a good job of making it more functional, assisted by the staggering enthusiasm of the first-years. Still, they were definitely a beginner-level team. The chances that Ukai-san would actually want to help coach them for the Showdown seemed… low.

But Ukai-san stuck around throughout the rest of their practice, observing as Daichi helped the team fumble their way through a couple more phrases of the Big Apple, as Hinata spun the wrong way and smacked into Kageyama, as Daichi broke up the ensuing fight, and as Daichi tried once more to explain the break into the partnered section of the routine, to general confusion.

“An all-guys team, huh? Don’t see too many of those at this size,” Ukai-san said to Daichi when he finally came up to him after practice. The entire rest of the team lurked nearby, taking off their practice shoes as slowly as possibly, trying and failing to look like they weren’t eavesdropping.

“ALL GUYS AND YACHI!” hollered Tanaka, and held his hand out to Yachi for a fist-bump, which she returned timidly.

“Yacchan can be one of the guys!” Hinata insisted. “You shouldn’t single her out, Tanaka-san!”

“She’s not a guy!” Yamaguchi said indignantly. “Um, unless you want to be, Yachi?”

“I, um, well…” said Yachi.

“What about Kiyoko-san?”

“She’s  _ definitely  _ not a guy!”

“She can be if she wants!”

“No way, but she’s—”

“She can be a girl and still be a  _ guy,  _ y’know?  _ Guys _ is bisexual—”

“You mean  _ unisexual _ —”

“Isn’t it just  _ unisex? _ I think unisexual is something with lizards—”

“What about snails? Aren’t they—”

“I ate a snail once, I mean it was cooked, but—”

“Thank you for coming, Ukai-san,” Daichi said loudly, cutting through the debate as it started to spiral. “Nishinoya and Asahi speak very highly of you.”

As far as Asahi could remember from when Daichi had brought up the matter of approaching Ukai-san, Noya had spent ten minutes showing Daichi clips of Ukai-san’s dancing from Seoul events, followed by twenty minutes of complaining about what a grouchy boss Ukai-san was. Coming from Noya, though, that was a sign of affection.

“Yeah, yeah,” said Ukai-san, waving away the compliment. “So you want to do a showcase for the Showdown, huh? I’m guessing solo stuff? Or do you have a bunch of other Nishinoyas to partner up with?”

“No way, boss! I’m one-of-a-kind!” Noya protested indignantly.

Daichi took a second to glower at him before smoothing out his angry face and turning back to Ukai-san. “Actually, most of us can dance switch, and we have some strong followers, so I wanted to showcase that. And some of us have been working on aerials. So probably the routine would be mostly solo, with a few partnered sequences.”

“Hmm. Yeah, I like that, I can see it. I’ll be honest though, right now you guys are kind of all over the place,” Ukai-san said bluntly. Asahi saw an indignant Hinata begin to protest, halted expediently by Kageyama clapping a hand over his mouth. “But you’ve got—”

“Eww!” Kageyama shrieked, wiping one hand frantically on Hinata’s shirt and using the other to smack Hinata in the head. “You weirdo! Why did you lick my hand?”

“‘Cause you put your stupid hand on my mouth, you big—”

“YOU TWO—SCRAM!” Daichi roared, pointing to the door. Cowed, Hinata and Kageyama slunk out, still shoving each other and muttering insults. Daichi turned back to Ukai-san and said calmly, “I’m sorry. Please go on.”

Ukai-san stared after them. “Is the shortie really in university? He looks like a kid. Anyway, look. There’s a neighbourhood in Izumi-ku that’s doing this little summer culture festival next month. The organizers are looking to build out their performance roster, so I can get you guys a spot in the show. It’s nothing big, but if you guys can get your Big Apple in shape and put together a few little demos, then we’ll talk about doing a routine. I can help out with a few practices before the festival to get you guys ready. Okay?”

Daichi nodded and thanked Ukai-san again. If he was nervous about the prospect of performing, he didn’t show it. Asahi, on the other hand, found himself swallowing back a sudden wave of nausea. Performing again? In a month? That wasn’t long at all. When he’d rejoined the team, he’d thought he’d have ages to ease back into things before he had to start dealing with performance nerves about the Showdown. A month? A  _ month _ ? He wasn’t—

Noya shoved him. “You better not chicken out on me, big guy.”

“Asahi doesn’t have to perform if he doesn’t want to,” said Suga, smiling kindly.

“Suga-san! Don’t baby him!”

“No, no, it’s fine. I mean, he’ll miss out on our very first time performing together as a team, but that’s alright. Besides, he’s probably worried about me and Daichi showing you two up in the demos. I get it.” Suga winked at them, slung his bag over his shoulder, and gave them a little wave as he left, calling, “See you guys tomorrow!”

***

“Ahh! I hate this! I’m never gonna get it!” Shouyou exclaimed, and promptly collapsed to the floor of the Science Complex east mezzanine with a groan.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Kageyama snapped. “Just do it right this time!”

“How am I supposed to do it right? You’re not even doing it right! We both suck!” wailed Shouyou.

“Dumbass! Don’t put me in the same category as you. I’ve almost got it!”

“No you don’t! You miss the freeze on three every time! And you keep screwing up the Suzie Qs, and then  _ I _ screw up the Suzie Qs because I’m watching  _ you _ , and then—”

“So don’t watch me!”

“I can’t remember the routine if I don’t watch you!”

“So be less stupid!”

“Stop being a jerk! I hate you!”

“I hate  _ you _ !”

After that, they lapsed into exhausted silence, both breathing hard. They had been working on the Big Apple choreography since Shouyou’s class ended two hours ago; in half an hour Kageyama’s next class would start, and then Shouyou would practice by himself until Kageyama finished, at which point they would probably continue practicing for another hour or two. And yet for all the good it was doing, it seemed like they might as well have spent the time sprawled on the mezzanine floor staring vacantly at the ceiling.

A month, Shouyou was discovering, was not a long time to learn three minutes of choreography—at least not when he had to learn how to do each of the moves as he went. When Daichi called, “Jump charleston!” or “Applejacks!” in their practices, people like Asahi and Noya knew exactly what to do, and most of the rest of the team managed to pull off the moves with some basic degree of competency as well. They seemed to know what they were  _ supposed  _ to be doing, at least. Shouyou just stood there and thought,  _ huh? _

And Kageyama was doing an even crappier job than usual of teaching him, and he was crankier than usual about it too. Shouyou kind of thought he might know why; it wasn’t that Kageyama’s solo jazz was  _ bad _ , per se, it was just that it wasn’t as good as his partnered dancing. When he danced alone, he sort of looked like he was copying the moves from a textbook (shockingly, Kageyama had not reacted well to this particular comment when Shouyou had brought it up). Plus, he didn’t know the whole choreography, so the two of them were left trying to cobble the routine together from English YouTube tutorials and vague memories of Daichi’s explanations from practice.

“If we can’t learn the routine in time, do you think the captain will kick us off the team?” Shouyou asked.

“Maybe we should ask someone else for help,” said Kageyama. His refusal to answer Shouyou’s question outright suggested he wasn’t confident the answer was  _ no _ .

“Who? Daichi-san’s too scary,” complained Shouyou.

“Suga-san?”

“But he’s always with the captain…”

“Nishinoya-san likes you. If  _ you _ asked, he’d help,” said Kageyama, sounding mildly bitter.

“Maybe, but he told me right out he sucks at remembering choreography. You know who we really should ask, right?”

“No.  _ No _ . Don’t even suggest it. I’m not asking him.”

“Oh, come on! He already knows the whole thing! We’d be stupid not to ask him!”

“Speak for yourself,” Kageyama snapped. “I can do it just fine on my own. I don’t need  _ his _ help.”

“Fine! I’ll go ask him by myself, and then I’ll learn the whole thing and I won’t teach you  _ any _ of it, and then everyone on the team will go  _ wow, Shouyou, when did you get so much better than that big dummy Kageyama, you’re so amazing _ —”

“Shut up, dumbass! Like that would ever happen—”

And so, in the end, Shouyou and Kageyama ended up going together to grovel to Tsukishima for help. They ambushed him in the library, where he was studying with Yamaguchi (“Actually studying, not just pretending like you do!” Hinata pointed out to a scowling Kageyama). Tsukishima resolutely ignored them for several minutes, while Yamaguchi kept glancing up at them and smiling awkwardly; eventually, though, when Shouyou and Kageyama showed no signs of giving up, and when Shouyou was practically vibrating with barely repressed energy, Tsukishima gave in. He slipped his headphones off his ears with a long-suffering sigh and said, “Well? What do you two want?”

“Please teach us the Big Apple!” Shouyou burst out.

Kageyama slapped him in the head and hissed, “Shut up! Don’t shout in the library!”

Tsukishima nudged his glasses up his nose, looking up at them with an expression that suggested Shouyou and Kageyama were slightly less appealing to him than the permanent layer of grime that coated the floor of the dance studio no matter how many times they mopped. “Really, Kageyama?  _ You’re _ asking  _ me _ for help? I thought you were some kind of prodigy.”

A muscle in Kageyama’s jaw twitched. He looked away.

“Hey, I’m here too!” Shouyou said indignantly.

Tsukishima spared him a disdainful glance before focusing on Kageyama again. “Hinata I get, but you? Why? You could learn the routine easily on your own.”

Kageyama muttered something indecipherable.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.”

“I said it doesn’t feel like I’m dancing,” Kageyama snapped. “I’m just doing the moves. I want it to feel like I’m dancing.”

Shouyou felt vaguely betrayed. Kageyama had never told  _ him _ that before.

“And how exactly do you expect me to help you with that? You’re the trained dancer.”

“I just want to know the routine better, okay? Will you help us or not?”

“No thanks,” said Tsukishima, and slipped his headphones back over his ears.

“ _ Tsukishima! Pleeeeeeease!” _ wailed Shouyou.

This time Shouyou had the prescience to duck just before Kageyama’s swat connected with his head. “Shut  _ up _ , dumbass!” Kageyama snapped. “Look, you’d better help us, Tsukishima. This idiot can be  _ really _ annoying.”

Tsukishima narrowed his eyes. “Are you threatening me?”

“Yeah, I am,” said Kageyama.

“Ugh. Fine, whatever. I’m teaching Tadashi anyway, so you might as well join. Now leave me alone.”

***

“Okay, so, balboa! The basic footwork is easy. For an uphold you go step-together-slide-slide-step-together-slide-slide, and for a downhold you go step-touch-step-step-step-touch-step-step. Then you just do it together, like this!” Noya settled into a close hold with Kageyama, who led him through a few very fast basics. In the dance studio mirrors, an identical Noya and Kageyama danced along with them, poised and relaxed. “Got it?”

Daichi glanced at Suga, and was relieved to find him looking just as lost as Daichi felt. “No, not at all,” said Daichi. “Slow down, Noya.”

“Alright, alright… Suga-san, you said you wanted to try following?”

“You do?” said Daichi. When he and Suga had started learning dance, they’d both led, which was fine, except that it had presented a challenge when they were trying to practice moves together. They’d both picked up a little following by necessity, but it had stuck better with Daichi. To be perfectly honest, he’d started focusing on his following just so he could dance with Suga as much as possible, but after a while he’d discovered he actually liked it. The swing-outs felt more satisfying, and he liked styling the footwork, and although he was no Kageyama, he was reasonably competent at spinning without falling over.

“Yeah, if you don’t mind. We can switch later.” Suga grinned. “I just want to be able to follow Asahi one day without embarrassing myself, you know?”

“As if  _ you  _ would ever embarrass yourself. But sure, that’s fine,” said Daichi. It  _ was  _ fine. He didn’t mind leading. He just felt suddenly and unaccountably nervous about the possibility of messing up and leading Suga into a repeat of the Slow Dance Incident from Friday night.

“Well, the footwork is exactly the same for the basic anyway,” said Noya. “You just do it opposite, like partnered 20s charleston. So Suga-san, you’re stepping forward with your right foot first, and captain, you’re doing, uh… whatever the opposite of that is.”

“Back with your left foot,” supplied Kageyama.

“Yeah, that. You guys try. There you go. Really small steps. Don’t bounce so much, captain. It’s more like a—yeah, there you go, but keep your pulse.” Noya watched them for a few more minutes, then nodded in approval. “Nice. Let’s do the hold next. So bal uses, like, a full-body lead where you’re offset from your partner.” Noya grabbed Kageyama again. “The middle of my body is sort of at Kageyama’s hip, see? And then up top you’re really relaxed, see, Kageyama’s arm just goes around my back, and I put my arm on his shoulder or wherever I can reach, no jokes about my height, please, and then we do a chill ballroom hold with the free hand. And for pure bal you’d stay like this the whole time. Easy, right? Captain, you come try it with me.”

Noya separated from Kageyama and grabbed Daichi, positioning Daichi’s arm around his back and settling right up against him. It was hard to feel awkward with Noya, whom Daichi suspected had never felt awkward for more than three consecutive seconds in his life. Still, he wasn’t used to standing this close for dance. It was basically a structured hug. Over Noya’s shoulder—okay, over his head, since he was fully half a foot shorter than Daichi, spiky hair notwithstanding—Daichi could see Suga in the same position with Kageyama. Suga made a face at him over Kageyama’s shoulder, and Daichi grinned. Okay. This wasn’t so bad.

“Now lead me a bit,” Noya instructed, and Daichi tried. The close connection meant Noya responded instantly to whatever he did, whether he was moving on purpose or just messing up. And Daichi kept instinctively trying to look down at his feet, which meant getting Noya’s hair up his nose over and over again. Dancing like this did feel nice, though—different from all the energy and bounce of lindy. Comfortable. He could see why Asahi and Noya liked it, especially when they needed a break from all their crazy fast charleston kicks.

“Not too bad, captain,” Noya said after a while. “Now try it with Suga-san. He won’t be able to cover for all your mistakes like me. Here, I’ll find some music.”

While Noya scrolled through his phone for a song, Daichi made a spirited effort at remaining calm, collected, relaxed. This was just Suga, after all. Just Suga, who was wearing jeans and a Sendai Showdown t-shirt that showed part of his collarbone, whose hair looked particularly fluffy today, who had a mole right beside his eye that Daichi thought about touching every single time he saw him, whose smile was currently making Daichi’s heart do acrobatics that would have put Hinata to shame. Ah, fuck. Why was Suga so cute? Did he do it on purpose? And why,  _ why _ was Daichi so sweaty again?

He tried to discreetly wipe his palms on his pants before he put an arm around Suga’s back. Suga let his arm rest on Daichi’s shoulder. Daichi took his free hand. The contact really was like hugging. He’d hugged Suga before. This wasn’t weird. And it was the exact same position he’d held with Noya a minute ago, except that Suga was taller, and broader, and very warm, and devastatingly handsome, and frequently put Daichi in danger of going into cardiac arrest. But that was fine. As long as they stayed completely still and Daichi directed all of his mental energy into focusing on anything other than the fact that Suga was pressed right against him from the hip up, there was a reasonable chance that he would be totally fine.

He hoped desperately that Suga couldn’t feel how sweaty his hands were right now.

Noya prodded Daichi in the ribs. “Remember when I said you had to be relaxed? Yeah, you’re, like, zero percent relaxed right now. Like negative relaxed. Like—”

“I get it,” Daichi snapped.

“Well, you were fine with me, and I’m way more intimidating than Suga-san,” said Noya, although his smirk indicated he knew perfectly well that Suga and Noya’s relative intimidation factors had nothing to do with Daichi’s current problem. “Loosen up. This isn’t ballroom.”

“I promise I’ll only yell at you a little bit if you step on my feet,” said Suga.

“You stepped on my feet a couple of times just now, Suga-san,” Kageyama pointed out helpfully.

“Right,” said Suga. “Thanks for sharing that, Kageyama.”

“Show us a couple of basics and then we’ll leave you to it,” said Noya. “I’ll count you in this time, ready? Five-six-seven-eight—”

To the best of his extremely limited abilities, Daichi led Suga through a couple of basics. His feet felt awkward and ungainly; Suga felt just slightly too slow. When Asahi and Noya danced bal at socials, they seemed totally chilled out, like they were just letting their feet shuffle through the fast steps without thinking; Asahi often looked like he’d given his all-consuming anxiety the night off for a change, sometimes Noya practically appeared to have fallen asleep mid-dance, and the whole time their feet were doing elegant, complicated things underneath them. Right now, though, Daichi felt more like a penguin wearing clown shoes. Plus, Kageyama was staring at him, really staring, which intensified Daichi’s already intense discomfort by about a billion percent. He knew the kid was just trying to help him out with his form, but it was seriously unnerving.

He missed a step and instinctively tried to glance down at his feet. This was a mistake, because his misstep had thrown off Suga, who instinctively tried to glance down at  _ his _ feet at the exact same moment, so that they ended up butting foreheads like Noya and Tanaka doing their “secret” handshake. Hmm. This had never figured in any of Daichi’s many romantic fantasies.

“Sorry, my bad,” he said, feeling his face flushing and his hands getting even sweatier.

“No, no, that was me—”

“You both stopped pulsing,” Kageyama pointed out helpfully. “And you’re tense again, captain.”

Noya, thankfully, chose this moment to take pity on Daichi. He tapped on the screen of the phone to start an up-tempo Artie Shaw song, grabbed Kageyama’s hand, and said, “Well, we’ll let you guys try it out for a bit. Kageyama, come dance with me. Oh, and Suga-san, if you mess up, just keep your pulse and step in place until you can feel where Daichi’s leading you.”

“Got it. Thanks, Noya.”

“What about if I mess up?” Daichi asked Kageyama.

“You should try not to mess up,” said Kageyama, looking at Daichi as if he suspected Daichi might be slightly stupid but respected him too much to say so outright.

“You know how some people are natural teachers?” Suga muttered as Noya and Kageyama started doing much better, much fancier balboa a few feet away. “I think Kageyama might not be one of them.”

Now that they were no longer being scrutinized by Noya and Kageyama, though, and now that they could feel the rhythm of the music together, Daichi found he didn’t have to worry so much about messing up. Noya was right; the basic footwork wasn’t too difficult, and once he actually started to relax he found it easier to move Suga with him. Every so often he’d catch sight of Kageyama whirling Noya around with all sorts of interesting step variations. He knew balboa wasn’t a particularly showy dance, and he was absolutely certain that what he was doing with Suga didn’t look like much at all, but it felt… nice. Very nice. He felt Suga’s weight move with him in a way that didn’t happen when he led Suga in lindy. Plus, it gave him an excuse to have Suga cuddled right up to him for several minutes at time, and so far he hadn’t done anything too horrendously embarrassing, which was some kind of miracle.

“You should lead more often. You’re really good,” said Suga.

“It helps when basics are all either of us know,” said Daichi. “What’s my next move going to be? Another basic. And after that? Another basic. And after that? Hmm, maybe another basic.”

Suga laughed and squeezed his arm. “Okay, fair enough. I mean it, though. It’s nice when you lead.”

Daichi swallowed. His throat was suddenly dry, probably because all the moisture in his body was currently being exuded out his damp palms. “Um, thanks,” he managed, vowing to ask Asahi for tips on his leading the second he finished practicing today. “I like you—your—uh—when you follow.”

After that Noya and Kageyama went over a few footwork variations with them, and Daichi danced a few more songs with both Noya and Suga, until Noya eventually glanced at his phone and groaned, “Crap, I’m gonna be late for my shift. Ukai-san’s gonna kill me again.”

“Nice knowing you,” said Suga. “Hey, thanks for helping us out. Let me buy you guys lunch sometime. Of course, technically Daichi should be the one buying you lunch, since he’s the captain, and if he’s buying lunch for you two, it would be rude of him not to buy me lunch as well…”

“Thanks, Suga,” said Daichi, rolling his eyes.

“Hey, I won’t say no to that! See you guys at practice!” called Noya as he sprinted out of the studio.

“If you’re free now, we could do some practice for the Strictly,” Suga suggested, once Noya had gone. “I had an idea for a kick-through sequence I wanted to try.”

“Sure, yeah,” said Daichi. “Just let me change my shirt.”

“Yeah, you’re really sweaty again. Could it be that our captain needs to work on his cardio?”

“Ah, shut up,” said Daichi, turning away to hide his blush as he stripped off his damp t-shirt and dug through his bag for his spare. He had his arms through the sleeves of his clean t-shirt and was about to pull it on over his head when he happened to glance at the mirrors that took up the front wall of the studio.

Suga was staring at him.

Wait, was he? He looked away the second Daichi caught his eyes, but he had definitely been—he  _ had _ been, hadn’t he? Had Suga been… checking him out? No, no that was—but  _ had _ he been?

Suga looked at him again, and seemed to make up his mind about something. While Daichi hurriedly pulled on his shirt the rest of the way, Suga stepped closer. His hands reached out to straighten Daichi’s hem. The shirt was the one he’d worn last Friday, the one Suga had said looked nice on him, the one in which the ill-fated dip had occurred. Daichi could feel his pulse rabbiting nervously in his neck.

“Daichi,” Suga said. “After we’re done practice, do you want to—”

“Captain? Sugawara-san?”

Daichi flinched in surprise, and Suga stepped back hastily. How the hell did Kageyama keep sneaking up like that? Daichi could have sworn he’d left the room with Noya. Had he just been standing there watching them do—whatever they were doing—the whole time? But Kageyama looked as serious and respectful as ever, so Daichi smothered the urge to snarl at him to get out and instead forced his face into a friendly smile. “What’s up, Kageyama?”

“If you and Sugawara-san are going to be in here practicing for a while, could I practice here with Hinata too?” Kageyama asked. “Normally we practice in the Science Complex on the weekends, but if you have the studio open anyway—”

For just a moment, Suga looked slightly annoyed, but then he smiled as well, and Daichi told himself he had probably imagined it. “Of course, there’s plenty of room. Maybe you can finally convince Daichi to put on some fast songs.”

“I put on fast songs,” Daichi protested.

“You put on  _ slow _ fast songs,” Suga countered. “Because you’re a grandpa.”

***

“Okay, okay, let’s pause there!” Ukai-san called, raising his voice to be heard over the music and the sound of ten pairs of stomping feet. “Leads, you need to get into position faster! That turn is quick! Follows, looking good. Ginger, remember, right hand goes up first during the claps.”

“Right hand! Yes sir!” shouted Shouyou, snapping to attention. Right hand,  _ right  _ hand! The problem was that he was facing Kageyama at that point in the Big Apple, and Kageyama also put his right hand up, so Shouyou always tried to mirror him.  _ Right _ hand. He could remember that!

“Tsukishima told you that a million times already,” Kageyama muttered. Shouyou just stuck his tongue out at him.

He’d thought Daichi was good at leading the team practices—well, Daichi  _ was _ good—but Ukai-san, wow! Noya-senpai said he danced in Seoul all the time! Sure, Ukai-san kinda looked like he slept in a dumpster, but whenever he demonstrated a move for the team, he looked  _ so _ cool! And he nitpicked everyone, even the really good dancers. Even Tsukishima who knew the routine so well (“More energy, kid! At least pretend you’re having a good time!”), even Asahi-san (“That break was sloppy, Asahi!”), even Noya-senpai (“Nishinoya, you’re doing Trickeration! Get your head out of your tiny ass!”).

“Let’s take it from the claps again on counts, slower this time,” said Ukai-san. “Get back in your London Bridge positions. Ready? Five-six-seven-eight—”

He made them do the sequence six more times until he was satisfied with it and let them move on. The rest of the practice went the same way, with Ukai-san picking apart their weak spots, while Shouyou—

“Ginger, you’re turning the wrong way!”

—who was not intimidated by Ukai-san at all—

“Look left, Ginger. Left!”

—who was not increasingly certain that Daichi would boot him off the team because he kept screwing up—

“The break starts on eight, Ginger!”

—whose proliferous mistakes were not compounding into nervous, buzzing blankness in his head that made him mess up more and more and more—

“Fishtails, Ginger, not boogie-backs!”

—remained completely calm.

“Um, are you okay?” Yamaguchi asked after Shouyou had missed the start of the rusty-dusties, panicked, and tried to rush into the middle of the circle double-time only to wipe out and land on his butt.

“I’m good!” Shouyou insisted, tailbone smarting. Yamaguchi offered Shouyou a hand and helped him to his feet.

“What’s wrong with you today?” Kageyama demanded. “You suck even more than usual.”

“Good to know all that time I wasted teaching you made absolutely no difference whatsoever,” muttered Tsukishima.

“Let’s take a water break!” called Ukai-san, and Shouyou watched as he went up to talk to Daichi. Were they talking about him? About how terrible he was? Were they going to kick him off the team? Would he have to watch as everyone got better than him and performed without him and Kageyama found a new partner to do aerials with?

“Where are you going?” Kageyama demanded as Shouyou raced over to Daichi and Ukai-san.

“I’m sorry I keep messing up! Please don’t kick me off the team!” he burst out. Ukai-san looked startled; Daichi just sighed.

“Hinata, no one’s getting kicked off the team,” Daichi said patiently. “We’re all learning. You don’t need to be so nervous. Just relax, okay? This is supposed to be fun.”

“Yes sir! I’ll relax! I’ll have fun!” Shouyou promised frantically.

“Uh, wait, that wasn’t meant to be a—”

Tanaka, who had been standing around with Noya and Ennoshita nearby, laughed and slapped Shouyou on the shoulder. “Yeah, little man, save the nerves for performance day! You don’t need to freak out until everyone in Izumi-ku is watching you!”

Vaguely, Shouyou registered Suga groaning and muttering, “Tanaka, why would you say that…” But Shouyou was too busy feeling suddenly, seriously ill to pay much attention. Tanaka was right—he’d hardly thought about the performance at all. What if he messed everything up and embarrassed the whole team? What if he tripped and fell right on his face? What if he forgot everything the second he got on stage? Daichi would yell at him, which was terrifying enough, but Kageyama might outright murder him. What if everyone hated him and Daichi didn’t let him perform with them anymore?

“Are you okay, kid? You look like you’re gonna be sick,” said Ukai-san.

“I—I’m just gonna go to the bathroom real quick!” Shouyou announced, and raced out of the studio, clutching his stomach.

***

The morning of the Izumi-ku festival, Asahi woke up convinced he was going to die. It was the only possible outcome. He hadn’t performed in months. He’d even stayed out of the jam circles that happened occasionally at the Friday night socials, much to Noya’s disappointment. Intellectually, he knew that the stakes for this festival were staggeringly low, that this wasn’t even a competition, that non-dancers were an easy crowd to please, that the chances of experiencing some freak accident onstage that actually, literally killed him were so insignificant as to be practically non-existent. But that did absolutely nothing to change the way his hands shook as he tried to brush his teeth or the fact that he put his shirt on backwards three times in a row. He just couldn’t imagine surviving the day. It was inconceivable.

His phone buzzed, and he grabbed it without even checking the number, praying that it was Daichi calling to tell him the performance had been cancelled due to unforeseen circumstances.

It was not Daichi.

“Are you freaking out?” Noya demanded.

“Hey, uh, no, nope, I’m good,” said Asahi, caught off guard.

“Really? ‘Cause it sounds like you’re freaking out. Anyway, can you let me in? I’m outside.”

“What? Why?” asked Asahi. He glanced at his watch, suddenly paranoid. Was he late? It was only 8:10. Had he gotten the time wrong?

“‘Cause I knew you’d be going nuts and I wanted to make sure you didn’t baby out on me. Are you letting me in or what?”

While Asahi made breakfast for both of them, Noya went through Asahi’s closet and criticized all of his clothes. It was extremely irritating, but at least it gave him something to focus on besides the nervous pretzel into which his stomach was currently trying to twist itself.

“Eat,” Noya said around a mouthful of omelette and rice, gesturing to Asahi’s untouched plate.

“Ah, I’m not really hungry…”

“Come on, Asahi, just have a bite or two. If you don’t eat, you’re gonna get light-headed, and then you’re gonna pass out during our demo and squash me like a bug, and then you’ll feel real bad about it.  _ And _ I bet Daichi will yell at you.”

Asahi ate.

“Got your team shirt? Dance shoes? Water bottle?” Noya asked when they were getting ready to go.

“Yes,  _ Mom _ ,” said Asahi, rolling his eyes.

“Ah, look at my little Asa-chan, all grown up,” said Noya, wiping away an imaginary tear. His phone rang. “Hey, Suga-san… yeah, he’s losing it… yeah, I made him eat… okay, we’re just heading out now. See you there.”

Asahi sighed. He liked his friends, he did. They just also drove him crazy.

He and Noya met Tanaka and Ennoshita at the train station. Tanaka was louder and more rambunctious than usual, which Asahi assumed was his way of showing his nerves; Ennoshita seemed a little tense, but otherwise alright. While Noya and Tanaka showed each other stupid videos on their phones and attracted irritated stares from other morning passengers with their obnoxious snorts of laughter, Asahi sat beside Ennoshita and felt his anxiety begin to mount again, growing as the train sped closer to their Izumi-ku stop like a snowball rolling down a steep hill. To reassure himself, he tried to run through the choreography in his head. Shouts, stomp-off, foot drags… rocks, drunken sailors… what came after the ride-the-pony? Did it go right into the break? No, there was something before that—oh dear—

Daichi, Suga, Kiyoko-san, Kageyama, and Yachi were already at Murasakiyama Central Park when Asahi and the others arrived; Tsukishima and Yamaguchi showed up not long after, followed by Ukai-san, who had dark circles under his eyes and kept stifling yawns as he disappeared to talk to the event organizers who were setting up nearby. Out of everyone on the team, Noya, Kiyoko-san, Kageyama, and Tsukishima appeared to be immune to pre-performance nerves; Asahi knew Noya didn’t really get nervous, while Kageyama was staring vacantly at a squirrel skittering across the grass, Tsukishima looked just as unimpressed as ever, and Kiyoko-san was, well, Kiyoko-san. Everyone else was jittery, but they seemed to be keeping it together. Daichi kept doing headcounts, like a preschool teacher supervising a field trip; Suga was quiet, hardly trying to tease Daichi at all; Tanaka kept practicing his half-breaks; Ennoshita was humming Big Apple Contest under his breath; Yamaguchi and Yachi kept saying to each other, “I think I’m a bit nervous, are you nervous?”; and Hinata was…

“Hey, where’s Shouyou?” asked Noya, looking around.

Daichi sighed and said, “He went to the bathroom. Again.”

When Hinata staggered back to join them a few minutes later, he was grey in the face and shiny with sweat. He sank down to his knees on the concrete. Surreptitiously, everyone shuffled a little further away from him.

“Dude, you don’t look so good,” said Tanaka. “Did you eat something weird? You’re not gonna die, are you?”

Daichi crouched down beside Hinata and put a comforting hand on his back. “Hey, buddy, you don’t need to be nervous—”

“I’m not nervous! I’m relaxed! I’m having fun!” Hinata yelped. With a groan, he clutched at his stomach and folded forward until his head was practically resting on the ground.

Suga knelt down on Hinata’s other side. “Hinata, why don’t you have some water?” he said, offering his water bottle. “Do you want a ginger pill for your stomach?”

“I gave him one on the way here, but I think he threw it up already,” said Kageyama, his lip curling in distaste.

“Ah. Um. Okay,” said Suga. Then, to Asahi’s horror, he looked right at Asahi. “You know, Hinata, Asahi gets really nervous before he performs too. Maybe he can tell you what he does to stay calm? Right, Asahi?”

Abruptly, Asahi found himself the focus of eleven pairs of eyes (well, ten; Tsukishima was checking his phone), most of them hopeful, a few imploring, all waiting for him to dispense some magical piece of wisdom that would banish their stage fright forever. Hinata had even raised his head off the ground, staring at Asahi like he was the last serviceable lifeboat on a ship that had just been torpedoed. Not for the first time in his life, Asahi found himself wishing he wasn’t so stupidly huge, so that he could hide behind someone. The truth was that performing always felt like facing down a firing squad to him right up until the moment the music started, after which it usually only took him a few seconds to settle into the dance, and then his mind stopped trying to sabotage him. But sometimes that didn’t happen— _ like at Swing Out Tokyo last year _ , his brain reminded him helpfully—and he just felt horribly anxious and stiff the whole time. He didn’t really have any control over it.

“Um, um,” Asahi said, flapping his hands nervously, “well, I, so, sometimes, um… sometimes I just try to think of something even scarier than performing, and that makes me feel better.”

Hinata nodded frantically and squeezed his eyes shut. The team watched, agitated, expectant. A minute passed.

Hinata’s eyes shot open again. “I can’t think of anything!”

Asahi’s stomach plummeted. With some alarm, he realized his hands had started to tremble again. “Um, well, you could… there’s… um… I, uh, actually can’t think of anything either, right now…”

Asahi had always imagined that if, in fact, there existed a person whose stage fright was even worse than his, it might have the effect of calming him down a little, perhaps awakening some deep-seated parental instinct or something. In fact, what seemed to be happening now as he and Hinata stared at each other was that they created a sort of positive feedback loop of anxiety. Asahi was fighting a losing battle against the rising urge to find somewhere quiet where he could sit down and put his head between his knees for a couple of hours.

“Oh boy,” said Noya.

“Ah, what about you, Kageyama?” Suga asked, somewhat desperately. “You’ve done a lot of performing with your ballet, right? What do you do?”

Kageyama shrugged. “I just don’t get nervous. I like performing.”

“Oh, wow, I wonder why Hinata didn’t think of  _ that _ earlier,” said Tsukishima.

“Okay, guys, how’s everyone feeling?” said Ukai-san as he rejoined them. “Whoa, what the hell? You good, Ginger?”

“I’m good, I’m good!” Hinata insisted, looking anything but.

“Seriously, is he okay? Does he need a doctor?” Ukai-san asked Daichi.

“He’s just nervous,” said Daichi, who was starting to look a little bit green himself.

“Okay, well, shake it off, guys. You’ll be fine. Anyway, you’ll be dancing over there.” Ukai-san pointed to a spot on the concrete where a few members of the festival crew were setting up curtains to form a backdrop to a makeshift stage. He scuffed the sole of his sneaker on the ground. “It’s just crappy concrete, like this, so you better do a floor trial now while you have a few minutes. This shit won’t slide like your studio, so make sure you’re nice and bouncy and be careful with your ankles. You’re on second, after the salsa crew. You can hang out behind the curtain ‘til they’re done.”

He paused for a moment to survey their nervous faces. “And listen, I really mean this, just try to relax. You’re all good dancers, and I can pretty much guarantee you this crowd’s gonna know jack shit about swing. If you mess up, just keep smiling and dancing. Alright?”

The team nodded, with varying degrees of confidence. Asahi briefly contemplated the logistics involved in faking a believable medical emergency, but decided that the risk of incurring Daichi’s wrath was too high to make it worthwhile. Suga helped Hinata to his feet and stuck close by as Hinata staggered over to the stage with the rest of the team. He looked like he was bracing to catch Hinata if he collapsed.

Daichi herded them into a cluster at the side of the stage and counted them in, and it was about two seconds later, before they had even really started, that everything fell apart spectacularly.

Asahi was right behind Suga, so he didn’t witness the incident first-hand. He knew what was supposed to happen was that they all entered doing their shouts, using the first three eights to arrange themselves into a circle before the stomp-off. It had worked just fine in practice as recently as yesterday. What  _ actually _ happened was that after Daichi had counted them in and Asahi had made it through one slightly shaky shout, someone behind him shrieked, someone else started swearing, Tanaka yelled, “Sugaaaa, you better have Band-Aids!” and Kageyama howled, “HINATA, YOU DUMBASS!”

When Asahi whirled around, Kageyama was clutching at his nose while blood gushed down his face, soaking into his t-shirt and dripping onto the concrete. Hinata, now the approximate shade of fresh milk, was cowering in front of him and yelling, “Sorry sorry sorry! Kageyama, please don’t kill me!”

“Fuck,” said Daichi. “Suga—”

“Yep, yep,” said Suga, already racing for his bag.

“Oh, oh, that’s, um, a lot of blood,” said Yachi, swaying slightly on her feet. Both Ennoshita and Tanaka reached out to steady her, looking alarmed.

“What the hell happened?” Daichi demanded as he hurried over to Hinata and Kageyama.

“This  _ moron _ ”—Kageyama pointed a bloody, accusing finger at Hinata, who flinched—“punched me in the face! Because he’s a moron!”

“Okay, okay, let’s just calm down—”

“It was an accident! Captain, don’t let Kageyama kill me!” Hinata begged, clinging to Daichi’s shirt as he tried to hide behind him.

“You stupid idiot! What the hell were you doing?” Kageyama demanded. He spat out a mouthful of blood (Yachi squeezed her eyes shut) and tried to chase Hinata behind Daichi, but Hinata was already skittering around to Daichi’s front, clutching at him like a terrified baby koala.

“Nice going, Hinata,” snorted Tsukishima.

“You dummy, I bet you turned the wrong way again, huh?” said Tanaka.

“Um, I, um, I think I need to sit down for a minute…” moaned Yachi.

“EVERYONE SHUT UP!” Daichi roared.

Everyone shut up.

“Thank you,” said Daichi. “Yachi, Kiyoko-san will take you to go sit down until you feel better. Take your time. Kageyama, Suga’s got tissues and an extra t-shirt you can borrow. Just wait backstage until the bleeding stops. Everyone else, back in position and we’ll try this again.”

It seemed like that would be the end of it, but as Hinata slunk back to his spot in front of Ennoshita, Kageyama rounded on him once more. Before Daichi had a chance to intervene, Kageyama fixed his vengeful stare on Hinata and announced, “ _ You _ said you couldn’t imagine anything scarier than performing. Well, what about now? What can you  _ possibly _ do now that’s scarier than hitting  _ me _ right in the  _ face _ ?”

Collectively, the team held their breath.

Hinata stared at him, open-mouthed, mid-flinch. Then, unbelievably, Hinata’s face broke into a grin. “Oh yeah, I guess you’re right!” he said, rolling out his shoulders and settling comfortably into his position. “Thanks, Kageyama!”

“I’m still going to kill you, though,” Kageyama growled. Hinata squeaked in alarm and sidled behind Ennoshita for protection

Asahi couldn’t help sneaking one last glance back at Hinata while Daichi counted them in again. The change was inconceivable. It was as if Kageyama had hit Hinata’s factory reset button. Hinata was still jittery, bouncing around even more than he usual did once they’d finished their floor trial, but his colour had gone right back to normal, and he didn’t look even a bit like he might puke at any moment anymore.

“Hey, Asahi, maybe you should punch me in the face before our next comp, huh?” Noya suggested with a grin. Asahi shuddered.

***

Even after Hinata’s miraculous transformation back into a functional human being, the atmosphere backstage as the team waited to go on remained tense. The combined efforts of Noya and Tanaka to bully Asahi into tranquility were met with resistance as Asahi got shakier and shakier; Yamaguchi was pacing around like an agitated housecat, asking Yachi every few minutes if she was absolutely sure she was feeling better, while she nodded and trembled; and everyone else was watching with growing unease as Suga tried, and failed, to get Kageyama’s nose to stop dribbling blood. The salsa group went on, several of them staring at Kageyama in alarm as they walked onto the stage. Daichi kept an eye on them as they performed, less focused on their dancing than on praying that they would buy Suga just a little bit more time.

The bleeding finally stopped halfway through the salsa group’s final number, which gave Kageyama just barely enough time to strip out of his dirty team t-shirt and yank on the spare Suga handed him. Then they were all lining up, Hinata understandably jumpy now that he had to stand with a seething Kageyama right behind him. The salsa group passed by them as they exited the stage, six women in red dresses and six men in all black; one of the women smiled at Daichi as she passed and said, “Good luck!” He was too nervous to do more than force a smile in return and nod.

The microphone crackled as one of the organizers announced the Tohoku University Swing Dance Team. Okay. That was them. They would be fine. He didn’t want to tempt fate, but he couldn’t help feeling that Kageyama had been right; it was hard to imagine anything going worse than it already had. Well—Yachi could faint. Or Asahi. Realistically, if one of them went down, the other would probably follow. But Asahi had performed plenty of times before, and Yachi had insisted she was feeling better. He glanced back over his shoulder at Suga, who gave him an encouraging smile.

The music started.

To be honest, he didn’t really remember the performance afterwards. He thought—he hoped—everything had gone alright; he never blanked on the moves, he didn’t trip, he linked up with Suga when he was supposed to, and everyone seemed to end up in more or less the places they’d practiced at more or less the times they’d practiced. Then they were bowing, and the audience was clapping, and one of the festival organizers was handing Daichi a microphone.

“Thank you,” said Daichi, out of breath, slightly dazed, bowing again automatically. There was a reasonable crowd clustered around the stage, mostly parents with young kids, plus a handful of teenagers. He made himself focus on the introduction he’d prepared. “My name is Sawamura Daichi, and I’m the captain of the Tohoku University Swing Dance Team. We practice vernacular jazz dances that originated in black American communities in the early twentieth century. What you just saw was a mob dance called the Big Apple, choreographed by the famous American dancer Frankie Manning in the 1930s.”

He forced himself to breathe and hoped he didn’t sound like he was dying. The Big Apple left him winded even in practice, but it turned out performing in front of people made it twice as exhausting. “Our team mostly dances lindy hop, a dance that was popular from the late 1920s through the 1940s. Although it can be choreographed for performance, it’s also a social dance, which means the moves aren’t set in advance and the dance relies on both partners responding to the music and to each other. I’ll now be demonstrating some improvised lindy hop with my, um, friend, Sugawara Koushi. Thank you.”

Crap, why had he paused like that, why had he said  _ um _ right there, that was so awkward, he’d made it sound so weird—Daichi bowed again, handed the microphone back to the organizer, and went to join Suga in the centre of the stage, praying that Suga, at least, hadn’t noticed his fumble.

“So we’re  _ um, friends _ now, are we?” Suga whispered as the song they had picked for their demo came on and they started pulsing to the rhythm together. “Tell me, is that an upgrade or a downgrade?”

“Downgrade. You still owe me a thousand yen, so you’re on probation right now,” Daichi muttered back.

Suga looked like he was going to say something else, but the intro was ending—they’d picked Corner Pocket, which they’d both danced to dozens of times before—and Suga was leading him into a first rock-step, a first tuck-turn, and then they were dancing.

He and Suga had wanted to do the improvised demo because they’d agreed it would be good practice for their Strictly at the showdown, where they would need to be ready to improvise in front of a crowd. He’d expected it to be more nerve-wracking than the Big Apple because it was just him and Suga, with the rest of the team watching from the back of the stage—but what he hadn’t considered, on the other hand, was that  _ it was just him and Suga. _ They danced together all the time. They knew the music, which was a nice, easy tempo, and they knew how to dance together. It was different from dancing together on the social floor or in the studio, but not in a bad way.

Plus, after the song ended and they’d bowed together, Suga hit Daichi with the biggest, happiest grin Daichi had ever seen on him. Daichi, giddy from the high of performing and now slightly flustered, tried to go to the back of the stage with him, until Suga nudged him back out and he remembered that he was supposed to introduce the next number.

After Daichi and Suga, Ennoshita and Tanaka did the Tranky Doo; then the first-years did a bunch of 20s charleston moves Tsukishima and Kageyama had strung together into something approximating a routine; and finally, the showstopper, Asahi and Noya performed an old choreo they’d done to Johnny Hodges’ Sideways at some event in Korea, one that involved a couple of basic aerials and a lot of snappy forward swing-outs that let Noya wink and grin and the audience. The whole team lined up to bow together again, and they walked off the stage past a cluster of hip hop dancers waiting to go on, and then that was it. They’d done their first ever performance.

“Holy shit,” said Tanaka, doubling over once they were safely behind the curtain. “I feel like I just blacked out for the past twenty minutes. But like, in a good way?”

“Great job, guys. Thanks for all your hard work,” said Daichi, and really meant it. Despite their nerves, despite the short notice, despite Hinata whacking Kageyama in the face less than half an hour before they were supposed to go on, despite taking a gamble on whether or not Yachi would faint onstage, they’d actually done it. “Now grab your stuff and let’s go find Ukai-san.”

“I think really we should be thanking our fearless leader for all  _ his _ hard work,” said Suga. “Speaking of which, I heard a rumour that you were buying us all meat buns, captain. Is that true?”

“Did you, by any chance, start this rumour yourself?” asked Daichi.

“I guess we’ll never know for sure,” Suga said, smiling slyly.

And now, of course, Daichi had several pairs of hopeful, expectant eyes fixed on him. It was like being stared down by a nest full of hungry, sweaty baby birds. Daichi tried to maintain some semblance of authority with the team—it was the only way he had any hope of keeping their rowdiest members in line—but he wasn’t totally heartless. The fact that it was Suga who had asked had nothing to do with anything, of course. He sighed. “Alright, yeah, my treat. Just get a move on.”

Ukai-san was waiting by the park’s playground, just beyond the crowd now watching the hip hop dancers. He was fidgeting with a package of cigarettes—flipping the lid open, staring longingly, sighing, flipping the lid closed. A stall nearby was selling okonomiyaki; the smell of the frying batter made Daichi’s mouth water ferociously. He’d forced himself to eat breakfast that morning, conscious that he’d spent all week reminding the team that they had to have a good meal before they performed, but he hadn’t really been hungry. Now he was starving.

As they approached, Ukai-san shoved the cigarette pack in his pocket and grinned. “Hey, nice work out there. You guys really pulled it together.”

“Thank you for all your help,” said Daichi, bowing, his heart thudding nervously. Ukai-san sounded happy enough with their performance, so did that mean—?

“Ah, I didn’t do much. So I guess I gotta hold up my end of the deal now, huh?” Ukai-san laughed as Daichi tried to shush the joyful shouts coming from the more excitable members of the team. “Well, I recorded the whole thing, so we can start by going over that at your next practice. There’s definitely some weak spots. You guys gotta get better at smiling, for one thing. Alright?”

“Yes! Ah—I mean—yes, thank you, Ukai-san. We promise to work hard.” There was a chorus of agreement from behind Daichi as he bowed again.

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll see,” said Ukai-san, although he looked pleased. “Anyway, you guys might as well go have some fun while you’re here. Maybe check out the other dancers. I’ll see you next week, okay?”

***

There was something different about Noya today, Shouyou was sure of it. Shouyou had been too busy freaking out earlier to notice, and after that he had been too excited about Daichi and Ukai-san saying they’d done a good job, and after  _ that  _ he had been too busy watching the hip hop dancers who had gone onstage after them, but now Noya was all he could focus on. What was it… Noya’s hair? No, his hair was spiked up just like always. And he was wearing the same purple-and-white Tohoku University Swing Dance Team t-shirt as everyone else, so it wasn’t that. He was wearing very tight pants, that was true, but…

“What are you doing?” Kageyama demanded, and Shouyou flinched instinctively, not totally convinced that Kageyama didn’t intend to make good on his vow of vengeance against Shouyou. Luckily, performing seemed to have cooled his wrath, although Shouyou still made a prudent effort to avoid looking at Kageyama’s nose, which was starting to bruise.

“Doesn’t something seem different about Noya?” Shouyou asked. Noya was talking to Asahi right now, waving his hands around a lot while Asahi nodded and fixed his hair. Ah, what was it…?

Kageyama followed Shouyou’s gaze. “Not really. He seems normal to me.”

“There’s something different!” Shouyou insisted. “I just don’t know what…”

Suga, who had been kneeling next to Asahi on the concrete as he changed his shoes, chose that moment to straighten up again, and then finally it clicked. Asahi looked enormous next to everyone, but Suga wasn’t all that tall, and now that he was standing near Noya—

“Noya-senpai!” shouted Shouyou. “You grew! How?”

Noya turned and grinned. He kicked his foot out, slammed it down on the concrete, and pointed at it dramatically. “Heels, baby! Check ‘em out!”

None of the upper-years seemed surprised, but Shouyou, Kageyama, Yachi, and Yamaguchi crowded around for a better look, and even Tsukishima seemed unable to resist peering curiously over Yamaguchi’s shoulder. Noya’s shoes were red leather, closed at the toe with a strap fastened around the ankle, like the ones some of the Swingers girls wore to dance at the socials. The heel wasn’t huge, less than two inches, but it was just enough to bump Noya up to Shouyou’s height—over Shouyou’s height if you counted Noya’s hair, which Noya had repeatedly insisted that you should. In retrospect, Shouyou couldn’t understand how he’d failed to notice earlier.

“Can you really dance in those?” Yachi asked. “Even when you’re doing aerials?”

“Basic aerials, yeah, no problem!” said Noya. “You just need a solid heel and decent grip. And they make your 20s steps look super amazing, see?” He twisted his feet through a few basics, twirling one foot behind him in a horsetail and then jumping into a lock-turn.

“So cool!” said Hinata, eyes wide.

“Right? They’re the best!” Noya said proudly. “These aren’t my good ones, though. I wasn’t gonna wreck the soles dancing outside.”

“Wait, how many pairs do you own?” asked Yamaguchi.

“Six,” said Asahi. He sighed. “That’s why he never has any money.”

“Seven, Asahi!” Noya corrected. “I haven’t shown you my new ones yet!”

Wow! Shouyou had always admired the girls’ heels at socials, but he’d never seen a guy dance in them before. But Noya was right, they made his footwork look awesome! And with the tight pants, his calves looked awesome too! Plus, they made him taller! Shouyou had spent the last ten years of his life hoping,  _ praying _ for a growth spurt as all his friends shot up around him. He’d grown a little bit over high school, but now that he was nineteen, he was starting to seriously worry he might just be short forever. But Noya danced in heels! He’d never even  _ considered _ heels!

“Do you think I could—” Shouyou began.

Kageyama immediately cut him off. “No. No way. Absolutely not.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to ask!”

“Yes I do. You were going to ask if  _ you _ could dance in heels. Well, you can’t. You’ll break your neck. I’m not kidding.”

“Shut up, you don’t know anything! Noya-senpai, you’ll teach me, right?”

Noya’s skinny chest puffed up with pride. He slung an arm around Shouyou’s neck. “Of course I will! I’ll be the best senpai ever! You’ll be swivelling in heels in no time, just wait!”

“Ah, Hinata, Noya has been dancing a lot longer than you,” said Suga, sounding mildly alarmed. “You don’t want to end up hurting yourself…”

Noya brushed Suga off with a careless wave. “You worry too much! He’ll be fine!”

Suga looked like he had more to say on the matter, but before he had a chance to speak, Tanaka and Ennoshita joined them, both back in their street shoes with their bags slung over their shoulders.

“Hey, Asahi-san, that routine looked amazing,” said Ennoshita.

Asahi rubbed the back of his neck and looked away, his face starting to go pink. “Ah, it was okay. I sort of messed up the butterfly, though… and I don’t think my posture was great…”

“Dude, you mean  _ I _ messed up the butterfly,” said Noya, rolling his eyes. “And your posture was fine. Chill out.”

“Ennoshita’s right, you guys were really good,” Suga said encouragingly, while Shouyou nodded vigorously in agreement. He’d watched from the back of the stage with the rest of the team—Asahi and Noya’s feet had moved so fast, and they’d been so bouncy, and when Asahi had flipped Noya, he’d really  _ flown _ ! It had been so cool! And Shouyou was so, so seethingly jealous!

“How come you didn’t do Bugle Call, though?” Tanaka demanded. “Are we ever gonna see it live?”

Asahi was definitely blushing now, his face going a shade of crimson that clashed badly with the bright purple of his team t-shirt. “Um, well, we don’t really do that one anymore…”

“What’s Bugle Call?” Shouyou asked.

“You know that song Bugle Call Rag—Benny Goodman, real fast?” said Tanaka. “Well—”

“Noya and I did a routine to it a while back, that’s all,” Asahi said quickly. “We don’t need to—”

“Yes, and it was a very exciting routine, particularly because it involved Asahi ripping off Noya’s clothes right in the middle,” said Suga.

The first years stared at Asahi. Shouyou tried to picture him ripping anyone’s clothes off without apologizing a million times afterward. Asahi looked big and tough, but you only had to talk to him for five minutes to realize he wasn’t like that at all. He was the kind of guy who helped old people carry their groceries, the kind of guy parents wanted their daughters to date because he was so nice and polite and could easily be bullied into carrying heavy boxes when needed. In fact, Yamaguchi had told Shouyou that he had once seen Asahi spend fifteen minutes holding a door open at Kawauchi Hall while students wandered in and out, clearly too awkward and too worried about being rude to actually go through it himself.

“Yeah, it was awesome,” said Noya. “First hit—goodbye jacket! Second hit—goodbye pants! Oh, my!” He grinned and struck a coquettish pose.

“Don’t say it like that! You had clothes on underneath!” Asahi protested.

“You say  _ clothes _ , but to be clear, what Noya was wearing underneath his suit was specifically a fringed gold flapper dress,” said Suga. “Do you guys want to see the video? I have it saved on my phone.”

Everyone crowded around Suga, except for Asahi, who looked as though he were praying for a quick and painless death. “I still don’t know how you talked me into doing that routine…” he muttered.

“Ah, come on, it was cool!” Noya insisted. “Everyone loved it!”

“Yeah, Asahi, you were super manly!” said Tanaka.

“Oh, wow,” said Yamaguchi. “You really do just—oh, I didn’t expect it to be so—wow.”

“That’s  _ awesome _ ,” breathed Shouyou, staring at the screen of Suga’s phone in awe as Asahi tossed Noya’s pants (they’d ripped right down the seams when Asahi grabbed them and pulled, with a series of pops that suggested snaps) off to the side of the floor, to shouts of delight from the audience. The fringes on Noya’s dress snapped back and forth as he shimmied through a mambo step with the kind of core isolation Shouyou hadn’t known was possible. Asahi and Noya’s swing-outs were breakneck. Their kicks were so sharp. And Asahi tossed Noya right over his head like he weighed nothing at all, Noya’s shiny fringes glittering in the stage lights and bouncing when he landed. Asahi was a big, strong guy, and Noya was a lot smaller, so that made sense, but Kageyama had said once that good aerials weren’t so much about strength or weight difference, they were about energy and momentum and connection. Wow.  _ Wow _ . Shouyou was mesmerized, and now he was so jealous that it  _ hurt _ , a prickly ache deep in the pit of his stomach that had nothing to do (he hoped) with how sick from nerves he’d been this morning.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about!” whooped Tanaka, and slapped a mortified Asahi on the back. “You guys are hot shit!”

“I can’t believe you have that video saved,” Asahi muttered, casting a dark look at Suga, who shot a shit-eating grin right back at him. “It’s so embarrassing—”

“How can you say that?” Shouyou demanded. He didn’t really  _ get _ Asahi, who was such a good dancer, and worked so hard, and had such an amazing partner, and put on a big happy smile when he performed, and yet could barely watch a video of himself dancing without squirming in obvious discomfort, and immediately started saying stuff like  _ yikes, my arms weren’t fully extended  _ or  _ oh man, that kick-ball-change was so sloppy _ . Sure, if you wanted to get better, you had to notice stuff like that so you knew what to work on, but it seemed like that was all Asahi  _ ever _ noticed.

Asahi stared at him. So did the rest of the team. “Um…” said Asahi.

“It’s not embarrassing at all!” Shouyou insisted. “You guys walk out on the floor and you’re like— _ bam! Hello, we’re here! _ It’s awesome! It’s amazing! I wish I could dance like that! So don’t say it’s embarrassing just because you pulled Noya-san’s pants off in public! It looked really cool!” The team was still staring. Shouyou’s brain, which typically lagged behind his mouth by at least a few seconds, caught up just in time for him to realize that he’d just told off a senior member of the team, and one of its best dancers, no less. He clapped a hand over his mouth. “Eep! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—please don’t be mad!”

“Oh, um, no, that’s okay, I’m not—” Asahi began.

“Ha! Shouyou’s right, Asahi. You should listen to him,” said Noya.

“Hey, where’s Daichi?” Tanaka asked, looking around. “Are we getting those meat buns or what?”

“Oh, he’s just talking to those girls over there,” said Suga. He pointed; one of the salsa dancers and a couple of other girls had managed to corner Daichi by the playground. Just for a second, Suga’s smile seemed to waver slightly.

“Girls!” Tanaka whirled around to stare enviously at Daichi. “What the heck! No fair!”

“Aw, Suga-san, are you  _ jeaaaalous _ ?” teased Noya, which Shouyou thought was kind of a weird question. Suga never seemed all that interested in girls. Not like Tanaka, and Noya himself for that matter, who were always vying for Kiyoko-san’s attention at practice. In fact, only a couple minutes ago they’d both been falling over themselves offering to carry her shoes for her.

And, predictably, Suga smiled his sunny smile and said, “Of course not,” which just proved that Noya was being silly.

“They’re probably just asking him about the team since he’s the captain,” said Kageyama.

Tanaka immediately perked back up. “Oh, yeah! Hey, maybe we’ll finally get some more girls on the team next year!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Big Apple is another Frankie Manning choreography! The version done today is usually the one performed in the 1937 movie Keep Punchin', but it was also danced socially with a caller shouting out the steps. Here's a video of some instructors performing the routine at an event (in Lithuania I think?): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f18mTL-bLxI


	4. Castle Rock (Johnny Hodges, 1951)

On Friday night—well, technically, Saturday morning—somewhere in the vicinity of 2:00 a.m., Daichi, Suga, Asahi, and Kiyoko-san staggered out of the SSDS social dance after the last song and staggered into a bar nearby. Suga, Asahi, and Kiyoko-san ordered beers; Daichi got a soda, too dehydrated from five-odd hours of dancing to want alcohol, and Suga spent the next several minutes ribbing Daichi for being an old man until Kiyoko-san distracted him by suggesting they all split a pizza. Suga then moved on to ribbing Asahi, who had started to doze off right in the middle of talking to Kiyoko-san. She didn’t come out with them often—she was quiet, and tended to spend time with her friends on the Swingers anyway—so it was a shame Daichi couldn’t really focus on the conversation. He kept getting distracted by Suga’s thigh bumping against his under the table.

Eventually, when only a few pizza crusts were left and Asahi was fully passed out on the table, they paid their bill, roused Asahi, and shuffled out into the street, all of them stifling yawns. In the time they’d been sitting, Daichi’s feet felt like they’d swelled to about twice their natural size. They walked Kiyoko-san home—her place was only a few blocks away—and then it was just the three of them.

“Are you sure you can make it home?” Daichi asked, eyeing Asahi skeptically as he drooped with exhaustion. “I can get out the futon if you want to stay over—”

“I’m f-f-fine,” Asahi insisted, interrupted by an enormous yawn. He waved vaguely down the street. “I’m just over there anyway…”

“Isn’t your place that way?” said Daichi, pointing in the opposite direction.

Asahi yawned again. “That’s what I meant, yeah…”

“What about me?” Suga asked. He staggered dramatically into Asahi, who yelped and nearly toppled over, although at least the shock seemed to wake him up a bit. “Oh, I’m so tired… my poor feet… and Wakabayashi-ku is so far… I’ll never make it…”

“You  _ barely _ live in Wakabayashi-ku. It’s not that far,” said Daichi, rolling his eyes. Suga used the exact same excuse on him every other week. Daichi always ended up caving. “But fine, you can stay over.”

Suga perked up immediately, all indications of exhaustion mysteriously vanishing. “My hero!”

“Well, goodnight, guys,” said Asahi, clearly deciding he had had enough. “See you Monday.”

“You’re drunk,” Daichi accused Suga as they waved goodbye to Asahi and started heading towards Daichi’s apartment.

“Am not!” Suga insisted.

“Lightweight.”

“Old-timer!”

“Technically, you’re older than me.”

Suga waved this away as inconsequential. “I hope you have good snacks this time. I don’t want anymore of this fresh fruit nonsense.”

“If you’re not careful, I’m going to start charging you rent one of these days,” said Daichi.

When they made it to Daichi’s apartment, Daichi pulled out his futon while Suga took a bath; Daichi bathed after him, relieved to strip out of his damp clothes and finally stop feeling sticky, and when he came out of the bathroom Suga had already stolen a pair of pajamas and taken over Daichi’s bed. (Back when they’d started university and Daichi had first moved out from his parents’ place, Suga had always made a show of politely offering to take the futon. The fact was, though, they both knew perfectly well that Daichi’s mom would disown him on the spot if she ever heard anything that even suggested Daichi might have been a bad host to Suga, whom Daichi was confident she loved more than any of her own biological children.) Daichi turned out the lights, tugged the futon’s duvet up over him, and anticipated being asleep in minutes.

But he wasn’t. His body was totally worn out, but the music from the dance still echoed in his ears, the energy still pulsing through his brain, keeping him too wired to pass out properly. It happened sometimes after he’d done a lot of dancing; usually going for a drink gave him time to decompress, but apparently not tonight. He rolled over, hoping a more comfortable position might help him relax. Rustling from the bed a few minutes later suggested Suga was doing the same.

“Hey, Daichi?” said Suga, after a while.

“Yeah?” said Daichi.

Daichi’s apartment was small. The only place where the futon fit was right beside the bed, which meant he was sleeping—well, lying awake, trying to sleep—right next to Suga. That was certainly not distracting at all, knowing Suga was only a few feet away. And there was something uncharacteristically quiet about the way Suga had said, “Hey, Daichi?”, something that made Daichi’s overexcitable imagination supply all sorts of unlikely and implausible conclusions to the question.  _ Hey, Daichi, did you know I like boys, did you know I like one boy specifically, in fact, you? Hey, Daichi, can I provide you with an itemized list of all the reasons I prefer you to Oikawa Tooru, despite his obvious superiority as both a dancer and romantic prospect? Hey, Daichi, do you want to hold hands? _

Then Suga snickered, and what he said instead was, “Do you remember when you ripped your pants in high school that one time?”

Daichi sat up, whipped his pillow in the general direction of the bed, and was rewarded by a soft  _ thunk _ and Suga’s voice saying, “Ow!”

“Do  _ you _ remember how we agreed never to speak about that again?” said Daichi, who suspected his efforts to sleep would now be hampered further by an unsolicited parade of all his most embarrassing high school memories.

“Sorry, sorry. It just popped into my head.” The duvet on the bed rustled again. “Ah, and you see, I’ve outmaneuvered you, because now I have your pillow.”

“Suga. It’s almost four in the morning.”

“Well, maybe you should have considered that before you threw your pillow at me.”

“You’re not tired at all, are you?” said Daichi.

“Not really,” said Suga. “But I can shut up if you are. Here, as a gesture of goodwill, I’ll even return your pillow.”

“I’m not really tired either,” Daichi admitted.

“Did you want to watch some of the videos from this year’s Savoy Cup comps? Noya sent me a couple of links.”

“Sure,” said Daichi, which was how he found himself sitting on the bed beside Suga, trying to focus on the team city battle playing on Suga’s phone and not on how Suga was very close to him, in his bed, in his pajamas, smelling like his shampoo, his hair slowly springing back into its usual flippy waves as it dried. A Stockholm team was facing a Montreal team in the final round of the battle, and the music was fast, and the dancing was unbelievable, and Suga’s elbow brushed Daichi’s arm every so often when he shifted positions, and consequently Daichi’s heart was racing at the same frantic pace as it had been a couple of hours ago when he’d danced to Flying Home with one of the particularly athletic Swingers girls. There wasn’t the slightest shred of a chance he would ever fall asleep like this.

It was the cramp in his neck that woke him up, although the bright sunlight streaming in the gap between his curtains didn’t help either. He blinked, disoriented, and winced at his protesting muscles as he tried to twist his head into a better position. He’d dozed off slumped against the wall, which was weird, because he remembered pulling out the futon last night, because Suga had slept over—

Um.

Oh.

Daichi stared intently at the ceiling. It was just plain white plaster and not very interesting, but it distracted him from thinking about other things, like the fact that Suga’s arm was currently slung over Daichi’s stomach, his face pressed right up against Daichi’s side. They were practically—no, they  _ were _ cuddling. There was no  _ practically  _ about it. Daichi allowed himself to sneak another glance at Suga. He looked so sweet when he slept. His hair had dried funny on one side, sticking up like it was caught in a big gust of wind. Before he had a chance to think better of it, Daichi had reached out to smooth down Suga’s hair, just once, just how he’d fantasized doing so many times before. Then, overcome by a debilitating sense of guilt, he let his hand drop and went back to staring at the ceiling.

Suga’s arm twitched against his stomach, and this time when Daichi glanced down at him, Suga looked right back at him, eyes half-open, like a stoned cat.

“Good morning,” said Suga, blinking a couple of times. He smiled, which was probably illegal, because it made him even cuter. On the other hand, he hadn’t immediately thrown himself away from Daichi in horror, so that was a good sign.

“Morning,” said Daichi, throat dry.

Somewhat to Daichi’s disappointment, Suga pushed himself off Daichi and sat up. He stretched—Daichi heard one of his joints pop—and then collapsed face-first back onto the bed.

“I have a dance hangover,” Suga mumbled into the mattress.

“Or a regular hangover, from your one beer,” said Daichi.

“Impossible. What’s for breakfast?”

“Eggs?”

“Mmm. Want me to do them?”

So while a chorus of clatters and sizzles from the kitchen, accompanied by Suga’s slightly off-tune humming, indicated that Suga was busy cooking, Daichi got dressed, made his bed, put away the futon, and thought,  _ Suga is being normal, which means this isn’t weird, which means I can be normal too. _

“You’re quiet this morning,” Suga observed while they ate at Daichi’s spindly dining table. Suga’s hair was still sticking up on one side. He was still wearing Daichi’s pajamas. He had a bit of egg yolk right at the corner of his mouth. Daichi thought,  _ you’re going to kill me, you cute jerk _ , and then realized Suga was waiting for him to respond.

“Uh… yeah,” said Daichi.

Suga looked at him, and for a second he seemed… uncertain. Very tentatively, he slid a hand across the table until he was just barely touching the tips of Daichi’s fingers.

“Do you—” Suga began suddenly, just as Daichi, who was panicking again, started to ask, “Are we—”

“You go first,” said Suga.

“No, no, sorry. Go ahead.”

“Oh, it wasn’t anything important.” Suga watched Daichi expectantly. He still hadn’t moved his hand. Daichi’s fingers felt like they’d been jammed into an electrical outlet. “So?”

“I was just going to ask if we were still practicing this afternoon,” said Daichi.

“Oh,” said Suga.

“If you’re busy—”

“No, no! I mean—yes, we can practice. I just have to do a few things downtown for my dad first. So—actually—I should probably go.”

“Right,” said Daichi. “Okay.”

“Thanks for breakfast. And for—having me.”

“Sure,” said Daichi. He did not point out that it was Suga, in fact, who had made breakfast, but he did add, “Uh, are you going to get dressed first, or—?”

“Yes! I was just—”

“I’ll—I was going to do the dishes, so—” Things seemed to have gotten unaccountably awkward, for no reason Daichi could discern. Had he said something? Had he  _ not _ said something? Why had Suga been touching his hand like that? Had he been trying to hold hands? Over breakfast? Why? What did it mean? Daichi knew what he  _ wanted _ it to mean, but—and in fact, sometimes it did seem like—but, then again, what if Suga had just wanted to hold hands… as friends…? Girls did that sometimes, didn’t they? Maybe he could ask his sister…

“Did I leave my Swing Cats shirt here last time?” Suga called from the main room as Daichi scrubbed the breakfast dishes in the kitchen.

“Yeah, I washed it. Check the closet,” Daichi called back. “And put some water on your hair. You look like Kuroo right now.”

“Kuroo? Tokyo Kuroo? Why, thank you. Kuroo is very cool.”

“Don’t ever tell him you said that. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“I would never! By the way, for unrelated reasons, you don’t happen to have his number, do you…?”

“Oh, very funny.”

Suga appeared in the kitchen a few minutes later, fully dressed, hair miraculously back to normal. “Thanks for having me,” he said again.

“You said that already,” said Daichi. “Stop trying to be a considerate guest. It’s weird.”

“Alright, alright. See you this afternoon?”

“Yeah,” said Daichi. “See you.”

***

“Guys, I had a great idea for our team name,” Tanaka announced at practice on Tuesday. Daichi was at the front of the room talking to Ukai-san; the rest of the guys were changing into their dance shoes and starting to stretch. Asahi had been vaguely invested in listening to Hinata and Kageyama arguing over what colour grapes were on the inside, but they put the debate on hold as soon as Tanaka spoke up, so Asahi turned to hear his pitch as well.

“We already have a name. Tohoku University Swing Dance Team,” Ennoshita pointed out. He gestured to the team t-shirt Yamaguchi was wearing, which did, in fact, say Tohoku University Swing Dance Team right across the front.

“Dude, but if we’re competing, we need a  _ cool _ name,” Tanaka pointed out. “Like the Sendai Swingers, y’know? Or what’s that Tokyo team with the one guy with the hair? The Skyliners? See, that shit’s cool. We need something snappy like that. Besides, Asahi and Noya aren’t even students here.”

Ennoshita didn’t look convinced, but, apparently willing to humour Tanaka for the moment, he said, “Alright, so what’s your idea?”

“The Karasuno Chorus Boys,” Tanaka said proudly. “It’s obvious, right? We’re at Karasuno all the time! Plus, Coach Ukai’s family owns it!”

“That’s stupid,” said Tsukishima.

“What about Yachi?” asked Yamaguchi.

“I thought we decided Yachi was—”

“ _ We _ didn’t decide anything, it’s up to  _ her _ —”

“I like it!” said Yachi, as usual looking nervous to have so much attention on her. “I don’t mind at all! I can be a chorus boy!”

“Dude, you can’t name us after  _ Karasuno _ ,” Noya protested. “I work there! Karasuno is all over my tax slips! It’s mega boring!”

“Whoa, what?” said Tanaka. “Dude, you actually file your taxes? My mom still does mine.”

Noya’s eyes narrowed. “I get tax slips. Let’s leave it at that, okay?”

Asahi, who had had the dubious pleasure of seeing Noya’s apartment, knew that said tax slips resided in the old shoebox by the front door where Noya “filed” all documentation he considered unimportant, which included pretty much every piece of mail he received other than MOS Burger discount coupons.

“I think it’s a cute name,” said Kiyoko-san. Tanaka’s eyes went round with astonishment, and he staggered slightly, as if being on the receiving end of Kiyoko-san’s approval had struck him with all the physical force of a transport truck barreling down the highway.

“You know what, now that I’ve had a chance to think it over, I actually love it,” Noya said hurriedly. He and Tanaka both stared at Kiyoko-san intently, clearly hoping for another small scrap of validation, but she didn’t even look up from lacing her shoes.

“I like it too, actually,” said Suga, which basically meant it had official approval.

“Alright, guys!” Daichi called, and everyone scrambled to look ready. “You all know we’re starting work on our routine for the Sendai Showdown today. Ukai-san is choreographing to Johnny Hodges’ Castle Rock, so you should start familiarizing yourself with the music if you don’t know it already—”

“I thought you said we were dancing to Get Happy?” Asahi muttered to Suga.

“Oh no, that’s way too fast for us. I just said it to get you interested,” Suga muttered back. He smiled sweetly, and Asahi was once again reminded that he was friends with a venomous snake.

Daichi glared at them, cowing them both into silence. “ _ As I was saying _ , our practices will be focusing on choreo work until the Showdown, but Ukai-san wants to start by working on some quality of movement and connection exercises based on our performance at the festival.”

He fell back to join the rest of the team as Ukai-san stepped forward, hands planted on his hips. “Right, so like I said, you guys did a great job with your Big Apple and your demos. I’ll send Daichi the videos I took so you can take a look at your own dancing and think about what you want to work on. For today, though, we’re going to work on pulse. I know this is basic, but it has a huge impact on how your dancing looks and feels. You guys are pretty good most of the time, but especially when the music gets fast or when you’re tensing up ‘cause you’re nervous, you tend to pulse  _ up _ , when your pulse should always be directed  _ down _ , into the ground…”

“I’m dead,” moaned Tanaka, two hours later, as he lay face down on the floor. Hinata and Kageyama, who were on clean-up duty today, tried their best to mop politely around him. “I’m dead… just leave me here… I thought the captain led hard practices, but geez…”

“You’re not dead,” said Suga, although he was flushed and still breathing hard from their last exercise, his shirt damp with sweat. He nudged Tanaka with his foot. “Come on, get up. You’re in the way.”

Personally, Asahi was inclined to agree with Tanaka. Ukai-san was a slave-driver. Even Noya was on his knees in the corner, slumped against the wall to keep himself semi-upright, and Noya’s small body typically contained the compacted energy of about fifty golden retriever puppies. Only Hinata and Kageyama seemed unaffected; incredibly, they still had the stamina to sprint back and forth across the studio as they raced to see who could mop the fastest.

A few feet from Asahi, Suga grabbed the bottom of his t-shirt and tugged it up to wipe some of the sweat off his face, exposing his mildly toned stomach. Daichi, who had chosen the wrong moment for a drink, missed his mouth by several inches and dumped half the contents of his water bottle over his shoulder. Asahi sighed. This thing with them was getting ridiculous. He just wished he could tell whether—

“Asahi-san!”

Asahi jumped, and turned to find Hinata and Kageyama behind him, watching him with worrying intensity. He hadn’t even realized they’d finished mopping. “Uh, hi, guys,” he said.

The first-years suddenly seemed to get shy. Hinata nudged Kageyama, who shook his head and muttered, “ _ You _ ask,” to which Hinata responded indignantly, “No fair, you said—!”

“Um, did you need something?” Asahi asked, before they could start fighting.

“Yes! Um!” Hinata squeaked. He glanced at Kageyama, who nodded encouragingly. “Asahi-san, will you and Noya-san spot us for aerials? Please?”

“Oh, ah, sure,” said Asahi. “What aerials are you guys working on?”

“The captain gave us a list!” Hinata said proudly, thrusting his phone forward to show Asahi a message from Daichi. “To see what we can do for the routine! He said that you, um, that you and Noya-san might be able to give us some tips, too?”

“Yeah, okay,” said Asahi. He took a moment to glance over the list on Hinata’s phone and raised his eyebrows. Daichi and Suga had done some very basic air-steps together, so he knew Daichi understood some of the mechanics; the list Daichi had put together seemed to indicate that he had a lot of faith in Hinata and Kageyama. Some of the ones he’d suggested were pretty advanced.

“Yes! Ha! Kageyama, we’re doing aerials!” shouted Hinata, throwing his hand up for a high-five. Kageyama met his hand with a resounding slap, although his expression didn’t change at all, which was slightly unnerving. “We’ve done a couple already on our own—just the safe ones! A-frame, frog jump, frog toss, sweep-the-floor, ninja kick—and we’ve done some dips and stuff—so Kageyama said, maybe we can start with the sack-of-potatoes, since it’s easy to spot? I’m really good at flipping!”

“Okay,” Asahi said again. They looked at him expectantly. “Wait, you guys want to do it  _ now _ ? Aren’t you tired?”

The twin blank stares Asahi received in response suggested this was possibly the first time either Hinata or Kageyama had ever even considered that the word  _ tired _ might be applied to them personally.

“Not really,” said Kageyama, “but if you are, we can do it another time.”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” said Hinata, looking like a puppy whose tail had just been trampled by a whole team of cleat-wearing soccer players.

Asahi, who hated disappointing people in general, let alone cute baby-faced kids with big, sad eyes, found himself saying, “No, no, uh, now is fine. Hey, Noya?”

“Let me die in peace, Asahi,” Noya groaned from his corner.

“Uh, okay, well, Hinata and Kageyama wanted us to help them practice aerials, but if you’re—”

“Aerials?” Noya leapt to his feet and raced over to them. “Hell yeah! Let’s do aerials!”

“I thought you were dying?” said Asahi.

“I had a miracle relapse. What aerials are we doing?”

“You guys good to lock up?” asked Daichi as he passed with his bag slung over his shoulder, Suga at his side. Asahi nodded, catching the studio key Daichi tossed to him. “Don’t stay too long. And be careful.”

“We will, we will!” Hinata promised, bouncing with excitement.

The studio always seemed a lot bigger—and a lot cooler—without the whole team milling around. Asahi was happy to let Noya take charge, just watching as Noya made Hinata and Kageyama demonstrate the air-steps they knew already. Their steps looked good, which wasn’t all that surprising, considering Kageyama’s background, Hinata’s dogged enthusiasm, and the ridiculous amount of time the two spent practicing together. And man, could Hinata ever  _ jump _ , especially when he had Kageyama’s muscular dancer’s legs adding power to his moves.

“Okay,” said Noya, when he was finally satisfied, “so when you say sack-of-potatoes, this is the one you mean, right? Ready, Asahi?”

Asahi nodded and took Noya’s hand. He rock-stepped, adding more energy than usual; Noya came in fast, planting his hands above Asahi’s knees and popping up into a handstand. Asahi caught him around the waist and flipped him over his shoulder so that he landed with his back to Asahi’s.

“Yes! Wow!” Hinata exclaimed.

“Cool, right?” said Noya, grinning.

“Do you pike more than usual? Or is that only because of the height difference?” Kageyama asked. He frowned at Asahi without really looking at him, as if he were replaying the move in slow motion in his head.

“A little, yeah. It makes it easier for the flyer to push off. I always have to stay pretty piked with Noya, though,” said Asahi. “It’s more, you know, setting your weight steady so the flyer doesn’t knock you over.”

Hinata and Kageyama practiced the entry a few times—the powered-up rock-step, followed by Hinata ducking his head between Kageyama’s legs and grabbing his thighs. The first few were made difficult by the fact that Hinata kept pretending to headbutt Kageyama in the balls and Kageyama kept snapping at him, but after that they both settled down into the same focused silence that always seemed to grip them during practice. From there, Noya and Asahi moved on to properly spotting the full move, their hands on Hinata as Kageyama flipped him just in case one of them slipped. Which they did. More than once. Despite their concentration, Asahi could tell both Hinata and Kageyama were getting frustrated.

“Shouyou, you’re adding too much of your own energy,” Noya said, after Asahi had grabbed Hinata in mid-air to keep him from bowling Kageyama over. “You’ve gotta redirect what Kageyama gives you, so he knows what to expect when you come in.”

“Well, he keeps chickening out!” Hinata complained.

“I do not!” Kageyama said.

“Do too!”

“Um, well, it looks like you maybe do a bit, actually,” Asahi told Kageyama, who stared at him with a look of deep betrayal. “I mean! Not chickening out, but—you need more energy. Like when you led your other air-steps.”

“Alright,” said Kageyama, and proceeded to lead the move exactly the same as he’d done it before. This time, though, Hinata took Noya’s advice, which meant his feet barely even made it off the ground.

“See? That’s all he gives me!” said Hinata.

“Yeah, ‘cause I’m afraid of dropping you, dumbass!” snapped Kageyama.

“Gah! This again? Stupid! You’re not going to drop me!”

“You don’t know that!”

“I do!”

“No you don’t! Especially when you add so much energy whatever I do! You might just go flying across the room!”

“I won’t!”

“Um, maybe we should take a timeout for a minute,” Asahi suggested, as Hinata and Kageyama continued to shout at each other. They ignored him. He glanced helplessly at Noya, who sighed, but dutifully stepped in. He cuffed Hinata across the head and smacked Kageyama in the stomach. Asahi winced. Noya didn’t really know how to pull his punches.

In the moment of stunned silence that followed, Noya crossed his arms and said, “Okay kids, listen to your wise elder for a sec. Kageyama, yeah, aerials can be dangerous. If you really feel like you can’t do them safely then you shouldn’t be doing them, but everything I know about your dancing tells me you  _ can _ do them safely, and if you’re gonna do them then you’ve gotta commit. Half-assing is when you end up in a tough spot ‘cause there wasn’t enough energy and now Hinata’s pantsing you as he eats shit. Just to take a random example that totally didn’t happen to me and Asahi when we were learning the pancake.”

“You always have to bring that up…” muttered Asahi as Hinata and Kageyama stared at him in amazement, very obviously picturing Noya pulling his pants down in a spectacular wipeout.

Then Hinata rounded on Kageyama and said, “Ha! See, I  _ told _ you—”

“Wait, wait,” said Asahi, before they had a chance to start squabbling again. “Um, Hinata, you also have to—I mean, Kageyama’s right, if you’re adding too much energy, then he doesn’t know what to expect when you come in. I know you trust him, but, um. He can still mess up. It happens. When Noya comes in, I know how much momentum he has and I know that he’s paying attention so that he can protect himself as much as possible if something goes wrong. So. Um. Yeah. And, um, maybe we should end here for the night…?”

Hinata and Kageyama looked at each other. They seemed to come to some sort of agreement.

“Once more?” asked Kageyama.

***

“Noya-senpai said he can’t spot us today ‘cause he has to work, so d’you want to stay and work on swing-outs instead?” Shouyou asked after practice on Thursday. “I wanna work on our quick-stop.”

“Just a minute. I have to talk to Coach Ukai first,” said Kageyama.

“Huh? Why? Are you in trooooouble?”

“Don’t be stupid. I just—have to talk to him.  _ Alone _ ,” Kageyama snapped, when Shouyou tried to follow.

So Shouyou went to hang around Tsukishima and Yamaguchi, ignoring the obvious look of distaste he received from Tsukishima, pretending to listen to Yamaguchi talk about whatever he was talking about, nodding once in a while to look interested, while eavesdropping intently on Kageyama and Coach Ukai. The studio was small, which made privacy difficult, but there were also about five different conversations going on at once: Noya was trying to teach Tanaka and Yachi how to walk on their hands, Kiyoko was talking to Asahi and Ennoshita about a book or something boring like that, Daichi was helping Suga stretch out a cramp in his quad…

But Shouyou was nothing if not single-minded. He managed to tune out all the ambient noise around him, even Yamaguchi talking right in his ear, in time to hear Kageyama say, “Ukai-san, could you help me with something?”

“Sure, what’s up?” said Ukai-san.

“I don’t like my dancing,” said Kageyama.

What the heck? Kageyama’s dancing was awesome. His technique was so good. Everyone said so! Shouyou would have happily killed for technique like Kageyama’s! And all his ballet meant that he was flexible and athletic and graceful whenever he moved, even if he was just walking around. Okay, he wasn’t showy and exciting like Noya, especially when he was dancing solo, but still—he was so  _ good _ !

Ukai-san sounded just as confused as Hinata felt. “Uh,” he said. “Okay, can you elaborate?”

“It feels okay when I’m dancing with Hi—with a partner. But I watched the videos you took at the festival, and I just found my dancing really boring. I don’t know how to fix it,” said Kageyama. He said it like he was asking for help with a tough math problem, like he was expecting to be given some formula that would solve everything.

“Hmm. Yeah, okay,” said Ukai-san. He was quiet for a moment—Shouyou snuck a glance over at the two of them and saw Ukai-san rubbing his chin while he squinted up at the ceiling thoughtfully. “Here’s what I see when you dance. You did ballet before you started swing, right?”

Kageyama nodded.

“Well, you dance lindy like someone who used to dance ballet. Which is fine,” Ukai-san added hastily. “Oikawa Tooru in Tokyo dances like that, and he’s a great dancer.”

“I know,” said Kageyama, and Hinata could have sworn the ice in Kageyama’s voice dropped the temperature of the overheated studio several degrees. What was up with that? Shouyou had danced with Oikawa when he’d been in town for the Sendai social the other week. He was kind of full of himself, but he’d seemed nice enough, and he was a fun dance partner.

“Riiiight,” said Ukai-san. Clearly deciding he’d rather not delve any deeper than he had to into Kageyama’s troubled psyche, he went on, “Anyway, he makes it work because for him it’s a deliberate stylistic choice. Lots of dancers draw on other dance backgrounds, but you need to figure out for yourself what you want to bring with you and what you want to change. Y’know, watch other dancers and figure out what you like. Just try stuff out. I dunno if that’s helpful or not—”

“—Hinata? Hello?”

“Huh?” said Hinata.

“Um, I mean, if you don’t want to, that’s fine,” said Yamaguchi, although he looked mildly hurt.

“If I don’t want to what?”

“He asked if you would show him how you do your swivels. Don’t pretend to listen if you’re just going to space out. It’s rude,” said Tsukishima.

“Oh! Yeah, sure, I can show you!” said Shouyou. “Y’know, me and Kageyama usually stay late to do extra practice—”

“Yes, we know, because you’re both insane,” said Tsukishima. “Some of us have lives outside of dance, in fact.”

Shouyou scowled. “I was  _ gonna  _ say you can stay and practice with us if you want, but if you’re going to be a jerk, then never mind.”

“No thanks. I want to go home,” said Tsukishima.

“Um, yeah… me too…” said Yamaguchi, who did not completely succeed in disguising his disappointment.

Tsukishima gave Yamaguchi and unimpressed look, and his sigh communicated the great magnitude of the hardship he was forced to endure by being subjected to the presence of people who actually cared about things, but in the end he did say, “Fine, I guess I can stay for a  _ bit  _ longer,” which made Shouyou think that maybe he wasn’t so bad, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me?? write a short chapter?? it's more likely than you think
> 
> also when I was rereading this fic to edit it occurred to me that I wrote Daichi and Suga like a bunch of lesbians (the painfully drawn-out "is she into me or is she just straight and friendly??", etc.) so..... I apologize lol I guess I write what I know
> 
> Another note on aerials since they have been mentioned so many times! TBH I don't do aerials and don't really have an interest in doing them because........ they are Scary, so my knowledge in this area comes from research and what I've heard from teachers rather than firsthand experience. When you're practicing a new aerial, you use spotters (I've read 1-2 spotters works best, depending on the aerial), who ideally keep their hands on the flyer at all times so that they're ready to provide support if something goes wrong.
> 
> Also, there have been a couple of events mentioned throughout this fic, so I just wanted to note that I made up the Sendai Showdown and Swing Out Tokyo, while Seoul Lindyfest, ILHC, and the Savoy Cup are all real events!


	5. One Night Stand (Artie Shaw, 1939)

Daichi wasn’t paying all that much attention as he hurried to the dance studio in Kawauchi Hall on Monday. He was eating a banana—his class had run late, but he had to eat something to make it through practice—and thinking. Not about anything in particular. The steps in the choreography that Coach Ukai had taught them so far, the text from his sister complaining about his mom again, the text from his mom complaining about his sister again, how Suga hadn’t asked to sleep over after the social on Friday last time, not that that bothered him or anything, well, it bothered him a bit, but…

If he  _ had _ been paying attention, he might have noticed the sound of footsteps squeaking on the floor as someone behind him broke into a run, and if he had noticed  _ that _ , it might have occurred to him to turn around to see who was sprinting down the hall towards him. But he didn’t notice, which was why the full force of Suga’s weight shoved him staggering forward into the studio as Suga jumped on his back. The banana went flying halfway across the room, landing right by Tsukishima, who looked mildly disgusted.

The rest of the team—of course the rest of the team was there already—stared at them in shock, but it didn’t take long for Tanaka and Noya to start howling with laughter. Yamaguchi and Asahi both had their hands clapped over their mouths as they did a bad job of pretending not to laugh; Yachi looked genuinely horrified, as if Suga had just sucker-punched Daichi and run off with his wallet; Hinata was gaping at them, tugging at Kageyama’s shirt and saying, “Kageyama, did you see that, Suga-san just jumped on the captain—!”

“Yeah, yeah, very funny,” said Coach Ukai, rolling his eyes. “Finish up your stretching, guys, we’ve got a lot to get through today. And everyone, don’t forget about the workshop on Saturday. You two, get your shoes on.”

Suga slid off Daichi’s back, snickering, and easily dodged the smack Daichi aimed at him. “What was that for?” Daichi demanded. “You made me drop my banana!”

“Can’t a guy just be happy to see his best friend? I missed you!” said Suga, grinning.

“You saw me three days ago!”  _ Two _ days ago, technically, since he and Suga had left the Friday night social well after midnight. Not that Daichi had been keeping track.

“Three days is a long time! Now, if you’d invited me to stay over on Friday…”

“I—but—what?” said Daichi. He’d been hoping Suga would ask to stay over again, and he’d been disappointed when Suga had waved goodbye after their post-dance drink and headed for the train station. Inviting Suga himself had never even occurred to him. He’d always assumed Suga only slept at his place when he was too tired to go all the way home. “I didn’t know—I mean, usually you just invite yourself over.”

Suga poked him in the stomach. “Well, sometimes it’s nice to be invited.”

“You two! Stop flirting and put your damned shoes on!” Ukai-san barked. “The rest of you’d better be stretched. We’re warming up with the Big Apple in fifteen seconds.”

There were relatively few times in Daichi’s life when he could recall experiencing embarrassment so overwhelmingly acute as to make him blush hard enough to hear his own pulse pounding in his head. This was one of them. He and Suga  _ obviously _ hadn’t been—and Ukai-san didn’t have to say it like  _ that— _ Suga had been the one who—and in front of the whole team—

Face burning, he slunk over to retrieve his banana, using the time required to step out of the studio and throw it in the garbage to collect himself. It only occurred to him as he stood in the hall, listening to the first bars of Big Apple Contest and the stomping of the team’s feet on the hardwood, that he’d been expecting to hear Suga laugh it off and apologize, which he hadn’t. When Daichi slunk back into the studio, he snuck a glance at Suga, who was hastily lacing up his own shoes. Suga’s face was as spectacularly red as it had been last summer when he’d fallen asleep on the beach without any sunscreen.

Daichi’s stomach lurched as if someone had picked up the entire dance studio and given it a good shake. What the heck? Why was—did that mean—had Suga really been—he hadn’t, had he? But, on the other hand—except that obviously—although, at the same time—

To avoid dealing with the problematic new variables that had just been introduced into his life, Daichi finished lacing up his own shoes and ran into the circle just in time to link arms with Ennoshita. After that, Ukai-san had them doing swing-out exercises until Daichi’s head was spinning, and then Ukai-san had them drilling what they’d learned of the choreo so far; and when practice was finally over, Suga was busy showing Hinata how to twist into an over-rotated swing-out, while Daichi found himself breaking up an argument between Kageyama and Tsukishima. Ukai-san’s call-out seemed to have been completely forgotten by then, except by Daichi, who now had it seared into the special part of his brain reserved for replaying his most embarrassing memories on a loop when he was trying to fall asleep.

He walked with Suga to the train station afterwards, casting sidelong looks at him and thinking  _ if you bring up what Coach Ukai said, I’ll ask if you were actually flirting, but if you don’t bring it up, that’s okay, we don’t have to talk about it… _

They paused in front of the train station. Suga had talked about Hinata’s swing-outs, about the routine, about how his parents were very rudely going on vacation without him in a few weeks; he had not brought up the flirting thing. Which was fine. It was sort of an awkward thing to bring up. Especially if he hadn’t meant it that way. Which was also fine.

“Thanks for walking with me,” said Suga.

“It’s on my way home,” said Daichi, shrugging.

Suga looked at him. He reached out and grasped the front of Daichi’s shirt, his fingers smoothing the fabric out where the strap of Daichi’s bag had wrinkled it. Daichi hardly even had time to freeze up before Suga had let go again and was waving goodbye as he headed into the station, calling, “See you tomorrow!” And Daichi thought,  _ what…? _

On Friday, the SSDS social dance was cancelled due to an unforeseen cockroach infestation at their usual venue, so Daichi met Asahi at Karasuno instead.

“No Suga?” asked Asahi as he held the door for Daichi.

“No, he’s seeing some other friends,” said Daichi. One of those friends was Oikawa, who had the audacity to be in town again. Not that Daichi minded. He was sure that Oikawa was a nice guy, underneath the many layers of blatant narcissism. Maybe. He didn’t really know why Suga was friends with Oikawa, but that wasn’t any of his business. Nor was it any of his business to go around assuming that they were cuddled up together in some cute café right now, feeding each other bites of cake roll, planning a romantic summer getaway to go dancing in California, pausing every few minutes so Oikawa could tenderly kiss the adorable mole right beside Suga’s eye. That was none of his business at all. Suga was perfectly within his rights to go around having his adorable mole tenderly kissed by anyone he wanted.

And yes, Daichi knew he was being ridiculous. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but something about Oikawa seemed to very effectively bring out every deep-seated insecurity Daichi hadn’t even known he’d had.

“Guys, guys!” Noya called when Asahi and Daichi entered Karasuno. He beckoned them over eagerly. “I’ve invented a new drink! Check it out, you just take one shot of every flavour syrup, and then you put a little bit of whipped cream on top with some chocolate sprinkles. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before!”

Daichi hadn’t seen a look of such abject horror on Asahi’s face since Suga had made them all watch  _ Suicide Club _ in their third year of high school. “Noya! You’ll die if you drink that!”

“Ah, you worry too much! I’m gonna make one for Shouyou next time he’s here. It’ll totally super-power his jumps!”

“On pain of death, I absolutely forbid you from doing that,” Daichi said firmly. “Can I have a coffee? Just a regular coffee? No syrup, no whipped cream, no sprinkles?”

“You got it. One very boring coffee, coming right up.”

“Me too,” said Asahi. “Decaf, please.”

“One very boring coffee and one  _ extra _ very boring coffee for the two old guys. Got it.”

Daichi swallowed back a lump of anxiety, shoved all unwarranted Oikawa-related concerns out of his head, and announced, “I think I’m going to ask Suga out.”

He’d been thinking about it for—well, for over a year, but  _ seriously  _ thinking about it since he’d seen Suga’s blush during practice on Monday when, against staggering odds, it had finally started to seem like he might have a chance. And then yesterday, when he and Suga had been studying together in the library, Suga had nudged his hand closer to Daichi’s on the table, looping his pinky finger lightly over Daichi’s, just leaving it there while he continued to page through his calculus textbook. Even though the temperature in the library had been just fine, Suga’s pinky had been absolutely freezing, which conveniently mitigated Daichi’s instantly sweaty hands, although it hadn’t stopped Daichi from spending the next twenty minutes sitting paralyzed as his eyes vacantly scanned the same page over and over again. It had to be a sign, right? Unless Suga had just been desperately trying to stave off hypothermia induced by his poor circulation. That was also a possibility.

“Right on, captain!” said Noya. Asahi didn’t say anything.

“I think I’m going to ask Suga out… after the Showdown,” Daichi amended.

“Dude, that’s two months away. You’re an even bigger coward than Asahi, aren’t you?” said Noya. Asahi continued to not say anything, although now he also looked slightly offended. “I didn’t think it was possible.”

“I’m not being a coward,” Daichi insisted, even though he thought he probably was, a little bit. “I’m just being pragmatic. I don’t want to mess with the team before we perform. Besides, Suga and I are doing the Strictly together, so I don’t want things to be weird. And, uh…” He swallowed, and reminded himself that this was why he had broached the subject in the first place. “I wasn’t really sure… how to ask someone out. Especially… another guy. Since I don’t even know if… you know.”

Asahi and Noya looked at each other.

“Wait, did you come to  _ us _ for dating advice?” Noya asked incredulously. “Dude, I get turned down by Kiyoko-san literally every day of my life. I clearly have no game. Like, maybe even negative game. And you know what a big baby Asahi is.”

“I’m not! But, um… I’ve never asked anyone out either, actually,” Asahi admitted sheepishly.

“What?” said Daichi, who was beginning to experience the unsettling sensation of having walked into the wrong exam. Noya was right, he  _ was _ always hitting on Kiyoko-san, but Daichi had assumed it was just for fun, or maybe that it was some kind of weird bonding thing with Tanaka, flirting in solidarity. “But—aren’t you two…” 

Noya seemed to realize what Daichi was getting at first. His eyes widened, and then he was clutching at the counter, shrieking with laughter. Asahi stared at Noya blankly, looked at Daichi, looked back at Noya, and started to go very red. “No no no!” he said, waving his hands frantically. “It’s not like that!”

To be fair, Asahi had never actually  _ told  _ Daichi that he and Noya were an item, not in so many words; Noya had just sort of showed up one day, and they were dance partners, and they’d moved to Seoul together, and Noya wore tight pants and sexy heels, and Asahi was studying to work in the fashion industry, and Daichi was just now realizing that he had constructed an understanding of a significant part of one of his best friend’s lives on a foundation of unsubstantiated and perhaps slightly stereotyped assumptions.

“We’re not dating!” Asahi insisted, sounding scandalized.

“Yes we are,” said Noya, reaching across the counter to grab Asahi’s arm and trying to cozy up to him. “We’re in looooove. Asa-chan feeds me Hi-Chew under the light of the moon. He’s so romantic!”

Asahi tried to shake him off, which just made Noya cling even tighter. “No, we’re not! Cut it out! This is why I can’t get a girlfriend!”

“So mean, Asa-chan! Are you breaking up with me?”

Asahi was now turning an alarming shade of maroon. “No! Because we’re not dating! Don’t call me Asa-chan!”

“Uh, wait,” said Daichi, now thoroughly confused. “So—are you dating, or not?”

“No!” Asahi insisted.

“Babe!” protested Noya.

“Really? But—you guys have so much chemistry…” Daichi said weakly.

“Yeah, because we’ve been dancing together for six years, and we’re friends!” said Asahi.

“ _ Best _ friends,” confirmed Noya. “Maybe even… more than friends?”

“No!”

“Lovers?”

“ _ No! _ ”

“How about soulmates?”

“Stop!”

“So you’re not dating,” said Daichi, just to make absolutely sure.

“We’re  _ not _ ,” Asahi said firmly. He seemed to deflate slightly. “Um… do people really think we are?”

“No, no,” Daichi said, although he was fairly confident that was a lie. “Just me. Sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“Yeah, Asahi, sometimes people think I’m your son instead,” said Noya, suddenly glum.

Asahi shuddered. “That’s worse. That’s definitely worse.”

“Only for  _ me! _ You get to work the whole hot-young-dad angle. I’m just the punk-ass twelve-year-old. It sucks, man.”

“Hang on,” said Daichi. “So between the three of us, we have no dating experience whatsoever?  _ How? _ ”

“I guess it’s kind of pathetic, isn’t it?” Asahi admitted.

“Yeah, for you guys,” said Noya. He splayed a palm dramatically over his chest. “ _ I’m _ just biding my time until the day Kiyoko-san wakes up and realizes she’s madly in love with me. Anyway, dude, don’t worry about Suga. All you have to do is go up to him, grab his cute little face, and say,  _ hey, how about we go back to my place and I f—” _

Asahi lunged over the counter and slapped a hand across Noya’s mouth. “Okaaay, um, I think that’s enough dating advice from you. There are kids in here, Noya. Shouldn’t you be getting our drinks?”

“Okay, okay…”

“I’m really sorry,” Daichi said, while Noya wrestled with the espresso machine. “I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“No, no. Don’t worry about it, man. Um, for the record, though, I would have told you. If I was seeing someone. Since, you know. We’re friends.”

“Right,” said Daichi. He thought Asahi was probably trying to be reassuring, but now he just felt like even more of an idiot, especially when he thought back on all the times he’d complained pointedly to Suga that Asahi never  _ told _ them anything. “It was just, you guys were together in Seoul, and I know we didn’t really keep in touch, so…”

“Right. Sorry,” said Asahi.

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean—”

“No, it was my fault.”

“Well, I know you’re going to blame yourself whatever I say, but”—Daichi nudged him—“either way, I’m glad to have you back. In Sendai and on the team. Don’t cry.”

“Hey, I’m not—! Why does everyone always think—?”

“Here you go, two boring old man coffees,” Noya announced, sliding two mugs across the counter.

“Thanks, Noya,” said Asahi. “Um… why is there a teabag in mine?”.

“It’s called a dirty chai,” Noya said proudly. “I’m trying to branch out.”

“The label on the teabag says it’s sencha,” said Asahi.

“Yeah, we didn’t have chai, so I kinda improvised. How is it?”

Asahi took a sip, choked, and clapped a hand over his mouth, forcing himself to swallow instead of spitting his drink out all over the Karasuno counter. “It’s, um, really disgusting, actually.”

Daichi eyed his own mug suspiciously. “What did you do to mine?”

***

There was another reason Daichi dreaded the times Suga chose to hang out with Oikawa, and he was reminded of it at ten thirty that night, when Asahi’s phone started buzzing. Karasuno was technically closed now, but Noya had let them hang around while he finished cleaning up for the night. About ten minutes ago, he’d also dumped all of the day-old pastries on the table in front of Daichi and Asahi and instructed them to  _ go nuts _ , which was not the  _ only _ reason Daichi and Asahi liked to come to Karasuno right before closing, but was certainly a contributing factor.

Asahi picked up his phone and said, “Oh, hey, it’s from Suga.” He tapped the screen, and his face fell. “Oh… oh no…”

Daichi sighed. “Let’s see.”

Asahi slid the phone across the table. Suga had sent him a slightly blurry selfie with Oikawa, Kiyoko-san, a couple of girls from the Swingers, and an irate-looking guy in a tank top all crammed into the shot. They were at a bar.

The phone buzzed again.

_ AHAASIIIII _ , said Suga.

_ i kno w you know love. yuo know ? _ said Suga.

There followed a string of incomprehensible emojis, after which Suga concluded, somewhat cryptically,  _ tell daichi _ .

“It’s not even eleven!” exclaimed Asahi. “ _ How? _ ”

“I don’t know, but I wish Oikawa would just stay in Tokyo. This happens every time.  _ Every _ time.” Daichi sighed again. “Well, since he texted  _ you,  _ I guess you get to—”

“No way,” said Asahi, shaking his head vehemently. “I dealt with him last time. It’s your turn.”

“Nope. I dealt with him  _ three times in a row _ while you were busy having your little quarter-life crisis in the spring. You owe me.”

“You  _ like _ him! You think he’s, I don’t know, cute or whatever!”

“Not when he’s throwing up chuhai all over my bathroom!”

“Maybe Kiyoko-san will take care of him?” Asahi suggested desperately.

“She doesn’t deserve that…”

“Neither do I!”

“Look, we’ll just see who he calls, alright?” said Daichi.

“Fine,” said Asahi.

Daichi was counting on the fact that by the time Suga decided to text one of them and drunkenly demand to sleep over, he would be so trashed that he would lack the cognitive ability and motor skills to do anything other than type a message to the most recent conversation on his phone, which would make him Asahi’s responsibility. Still, when Daichi got back to his apartment, he turned up the volume on his phone and set it right beside his bed, just in case. There was always the possibility that Suga would text Asahi demanding to be let in while standing in front of Daichi’s building, or vice versa. It had happened before.

And, of course, as luck would have it, Daichi’s ringtone jolted him awake at 2:37 a.m. He blinked blearily a few times until his eyes managed to focus on the name on the screen. Sugawara Koushi. Obviously. He fumbled the phone to his ear and mumbled, “Hello?”

“Hi,” said a gruff, surprisingly sober voice that was definitely not Suga. “Is this, uh… Captain Thighs?”

The guy had to raise his voice to be heard over all the noise in the background, which included someone who sounded very much like Suga screaming with laughter while someone else who sounded very much like Oikawa wheezed, “ _ Captain Thighs!” _

“What?” said Daichi, who was nowhere near awake enough to deal with this. “Uh, who is this?”

“Iwaizumi Hajime. I have the misfortune of being friends with Oikawa Tooru.” In the background, the person who sounded like Oikawa shouted,  _ “Mean, Iwa-chan!” _ and the person who sounded like Suga yelled,  _ “Tooru, I still love you, I’ll be your friend!” _ Iwaizumi let out an exasperated sigh. “Would you two shut up for five fucking seconds? Sorry, I have no fucking clue what your real name is. Sugawara’s been changing your contact name in his phone all night. You’re his friend, right? Can I drop him at your place? He’s super fucked up.”

Shit. Asahi had no idea what a lucky bastard he was tonight. Daichi groaned, but hauled himself out of bed, saying, “Yeah, let me text you my address. I’ll wait outside.”

Iwaizumi showed up fifteen minutes later. Daichi recognized him from Suga’s blurry selfie. He was big and muscular, which was good, because he had his work cut out for him supporting Oikawa on one arm and Suga on the other. Understandably, he looked about as irritated as he’d sounded on the phone. Daichi noted that at some point in the night, Oikawa and Suga appeared to have switched shirts, unless Suga had trained in secret at the New National Theatre Ballet School and Oikawa made a habit of wearing his clothes backwards.

“Thanks for bringing him over,” said Daichi, stifling a yawn.

Iwaizumi tried to transfer Suga to him, but he was impaired by Suga’s sluggish struggling. Suga grabbed Oikawa’s hand and said, “Nonono, I’m not even tired! Tooru, let’s get married! Iwa-chan, let’s get married! Where’s Shimizu? I want to get married!”

“Don’t call me that,” said Iwaizumi.

“Let’s get married!” Oikawa agreed, giggling as he sagged against Iwaizumi. “We can all get married! Iwa-chan, where’s Shimizu?”

“At home in bed, because she’s a fucking functional adult, unlike you morons,” said Iwaizumi. He glanced at Daichi guiltily. “Uh, no offense to your buddy. I mostly meant him.” He nodded towards Oikawa.

“It’s fine, he deserves it,” Daichi said wearily. “Come on, Suga. Iwaizumi, right? Are you good to get Oikawa home on your own?”

“Yeah, yeah. This isn’t my first time,” said Iwaizumi, rolling his eyes. “Anyway, nice to meet you, Captain Thighs. See you around.”

Between the two of them, Iwaizumi and Daichi managed to sling Suga’s arm around Daichi’s shoulders, so that Daichi now had the dubious pleasure of supporting the bulk of his weight, Suga having apparently decided that what his own legs did was none of his concern. With some wailing and hysterics from Suga and Oikawa, Iwaizumi managed to start marching Oikawa off down the street, while Daichi fumbled his door open and hauled Suga inside and up the first flight of stairs.

“I’m just gonna sit down here for a minute,” said Suga, halfway up the second flight, his knees already buckling under him.

“Okay, let’s not do that,” said Daichi, heaving Suga upright again.

“Me and Tooru are getting married,” Suga informed him.

“Yeah, I heard,” said Daichi. He wondered if there was a rock-bottom even lower than being seized with jealousy over your best friend’s drunken ramblings. Last time Suga had gone out drinking with Oikawa, Asahi said he’d spent forty-five minutes explaining in detail his plan to laminate a racoon and mail it to his jiji for his birthday. It clearly meant nothing.

“But don’t worry, I’ll marry you too,” said Suga.

“Great. Thanks. Can’t wait to be part of your harem,” said Daichi.

“And Asahi.” Suga sniffled. Uh oh. “I miss Asahi.”

“Well, good news, you’re seeing him tomorrow.”

“I love Asahi. I just. I love him. He’s so…”

“Big?”

“Yeah. I love him. I’m just gonna sit down here, okay?”

“No, you’re not…”

“I wish Asahi was here.”

“I know, Suga.”

Eventually, after Suga had made a few more attempts to sit down on the stairs and had tried to take his pants off in the hall, Daichi managed to get him through his front door and onto the couch. Knowing better than to trust Suga with a glass at this point, Daichi filled up a water bottle at the kitchen sink and handed it to him. He had set up the futon right after Iwaizumi called; only Sober Suga got the privilege of the bed, because the one time Drunk Suga had slept in Daichi’s bed, he’d immediately rolled out of it and right onto Daichi.

“Do you have snacks?” Suga asked, and promptly spilled half of the water on the couch. Daichi didn’t even need to come up with an excuse as to why he would not be allowing Suga to eat snacks at 3:00 a.m., because Suga moved right on to kicking the cushions off the couch and sprawling out on his stomach, after which he said, “I’m just gonna sleep here for a minute, okay?”

“I mean, the futon is right there, but—and you’re already asleep. Well, goodnight,” said Daichi. He yawned, and looked longingly at his own bed, but he heaved Suga onto his side first to make sure he didn’t choke and die in his sleep. Then, because he was an exceptionally generous person who deserved many awards for his completely unwarranted altruism (and maybe a little bit because he was a lovesick fool), he also took the time to get out the painkillers, put another glass of water on the table, and throw the duvet from the futon over Suga, who looked positively angelic now that he was unconscious.

Daichi gave himself exactly thirty seconds to kneel on the floor, arms resting on the couch, and look at Suga. His eyelashes were the same pale grey as his hair. He was so pretty he didn’t look real, even at 3:00 a.m., even “super fucked up,” as Iwaizumi had put it. Daichi thought,  _ do you like me? Snore once for yes, twice for no _ .  _ If it’s yes, I’ll ask you out first thing in the morning _ . _ If it’s no, well, this is a stupid idea anyway. _ But Suga was a quiet sleeper, so he didn’t snore at all, and after his thirty seconds was up, Daichi went to bed.

Nowhere near enough hours later, Daichi woke up to the sound of Suga groaning, followed by a thump as he slid off the couch onto the floor.

“I feel awful,” Suga moaned. He started fumbling for the glass of water Daichi had left him. “What happened? Where are my pants? Whose shirt is this?”

“The shirt is Oikawa’s, I think? And your pants are on the table,” said Daichi. The pants were folded very neatly and had been placed under one of Daichi’s textbooks, as if to prevent them making a sudden bid for freedom. Suga had explained, almost coherently, as he put them there last night that this way he wouldn’t have to iron them in the morning. “I hear congratulations are in order, by the way.”

Suga froze, hand still outstretched. “Oh God. What did I do?”

“Well, first you proposed marriage to Oikawa, and then to Iwaizumi Hajime, and then—I think—to Kiyoko-san, and then to me, and then to Asahi. That was just the part I was there for, though.”

Suga relaxed again. “Oh, that’s not too bad. Wait, was Asahi here?”

“No, I think you were just taking his acceptance for granted.”

“Well, naturally.” Suga grinned at Daichi slyly. “What about  _ your _ acceptance? Can I take that for granted too?”

It was completely unjust that Suga, who had been too wasted to stand up on his own less than five hours ago, who had been escorted home wearing someone else’s shirt, who had apparently saved Daichi’s contact information in his phone under the name  _ Captain Thighs _ , was still somehow capable of flustering Daichi, and not the other way round. Luckily, before Daichi had a chance to say anything, Suga’s face went utterly blank. With preternatural speed, he lurched upright and leapt to the bathroom.

While Suga was busy being sick, Daichi got up, got dressed, texted a reminder to be on campus by 11:45 today to all members of the team not currently throwing up in his bathroom, and started cooking. Once the sound of the toilet flushing indicated that Suga was done for the moment, Daichi stuck his head in the bathroom and said, “Hey, do you want natto with breakfast?”

Suga mustered the effort to raise his sweaty, greenish face off the tiled floor in order to glare pathetically at Daichi. “Is that all you can say to me? When I’m clearly dying? Do I  _ look _ like I want natto with breakfast?”

“You’re not dying, and you’d better eat something,” Daichi said. “We have to be on campus in an hour and a half.”

“What? Why? It’s Saturd—” Suga’s eyes widened with horror. “Ohhhh no. The workshop. It’s today? I totally forgot.”

“Yeah, I thought you might have.”

“I can’t go… you can’t possibly make me go… I’ll die…”

“Either  _ I _ can make you go,” said Daichi, “or I can call your mom, explain to her why exactly you didn’t come home last night, and get  _ her _ to make you go. Your choice, but either way, you’re going.”

“You wouldn’t—”

Daichi pulled out his phone.

“Wait, don’t!” Suga gasped. He groaned and made an unsuccessful attempt to push himself upright. “Fine, I’ll go… Sawamura, you’re evil…”

“Yeah, yeah. So, natto?”

***

“Do you think Suga-san is okay? He looks really unwell,” Yachi whispered to Shouyou as she leaned forward to stretch out her hips.

Shouyou glanced at Suga, who had managed to get one shoe on but was now sagging against the wall, apparently taking a break before attempting the other shoe. He  _ did _ look pretty pale. “He must be okay, otherwise the captain would send him home, right?”

“I don’t know… Coach Ukai was pretty firm about us all attending… poor Suga-san…”

The studio was crowded today. The team didn’t have much of an operating budget, but at Coach Ukai’s prompting, Daichi had arranged to have some dancers he knew from Tokyo come up to lead a couple of classes. It wasn’t a big event, but Sendai’s swing community was small enough that the workshop had managed to attract a couple of girls from the Swingers, as well as that guy Oikawa and a little boy he’d brought along with him. Oikawa was chattering away to Suga, totally oblivious to the fact that Suga seemed half dead.

Daichi’s two dancer friends were kind of intimidating—or they  _ looked _ intimidating. They were both really tall, and one of them had huge shoulders like a wrestler or something, and the other one had spiky hair that stuck up funny all over. When Shouyou had arrived, though, he’d hung around near them while he put his shoes on in the hopes of hearing some secret pro-level dance tips, and all they’d done was punch each other like Noya and Tanaka while Shoulders kept trying to show Bedhead something on his phone. So they actually seemed pretty normal, and not exactly like the godly dance masters Shouyou had envisioned.

(“Dude, you showed me this video like, six times already,” said Bedhead.

“But dude, did you see where he goes up en pointe? Did you see his calves? I mean—” said Shoulders.

“ _ Yes _ , I saw his calves, dude, you literally talked about his calves the whole train ride here, I get it, your boyfriend has amazing calves, he’s so beautiful, he’s so talented, he’s totally shredded, you’re so lucky, can we talk  _ please _ about something  _ other _ than Akaashi’s calves for  _ five minutes _ ?”)

Right at noon, Daichi stepped up to the front of the room and bellowed, “LET’S GET STARTED, EVERYONE!” (Suga sagged against Asahi, clutching at his head.) “Thank you all for coming. I’d also like to thank our teachers today, Kuroo Tetsurou and Bokuto Koutaro, for coming up from Tokyo to join us.”

At the back of the room, Oikawa cupped a hand around his mouth and called, “Boooo!”

“Ojisan! Shut up!” said the little boy beside Oikawa.

“Yeah man, listen to your wise nephew,” said Bokuto, while Kuroo just flipped him off. Daichi looked as though he were already regretting inviting them.

Unprofessional conduct had never been a particular concern of Shouyou’s anyway, but the second Kuroo and Bokuto put on One Night Stand and started their warm-up, all thoughts of everything else were forcibly booted right out of Shouyou’s head. It was like being back in Tokyo, back at his very first social with Kouji and Izumi, watching the Tokyo dancers in the jam circle. Kuroo taught a class on solo jazz move variations; watching him dance, Shouyou thought enviously that Kuroo moved with more style in one hand than Shouyou had in his entire body. And he was so relaxed about it, like when he moved, style just  _ happened _ . And Bokuto did a class on body awareness, and  _ he _ moved like he knew exactly what every single muscle in his body was doing all the time, like he could turn all the bones in his body into jelly and then snap them right back into shape whenever he wanted.

At their break, Hinata ran up to Kageyama and demanded, “Kageyama, Kageyama, introduce me to the teachers!”

“Huh?” said Kageyama.

“They’re from Tokyo, right? And you used to dance in Tokyo, right? So—”

“Dumbass! I don’t know every single dancer in Tokyo!”

“Well, do you know these ones?”

“I—well—yeah,” Kageyama admitted, scowling. “Sort of. But—”

“So introduce me!”

Kageyama sighed, but he walked over to where Kuroo and Bokuto were practicing some moves for the next class. With typically Kageyama charisma, he said, “Hi.”

“Oh, dude, it’s Kageyama,” said Kuroo, straightening out of his squat charleston.

“Dude!” said Bokuto. He slapped Kageyama on the shoulder with enough force to make Kageyama stagger a little. “Last time we saw you, you were just a baby!”

“I was eighteen,” said Kageyama.

“And how old are you now?” asked Kuroo.

“Still eighteen,” said Kageyama. “It’s only been six months.”

“Dude, he’s all grown up,” Bokuto said fondly.

“Hey, Daichi sent us your Big Apple video from a while back. You guys looked awesome,” said Kuroo.

“Yeah, man!” Bokuto agreed. “I showed it to Akaashi and he was like  _ whoa, dude, Tobio’s dancing has such a sweet vibe now _ .”

“He said that?” said Kageyama. To Shouyou’s amazement, his face had gone all pink.

“Yeah! But like, classier, ‘cause Akaashi. But that was what he meant. Hey, let me show you this video of his—”

“Dude,  _ no _ . I’m confiscating your phone.”

Shouyou nudged Kageyama impatiently. Kageyama sighed and said, “This is my dumb friend Hinata. We practice together sometimes.”

Kuroo and Bokuto exchanged a look.

“Friend?” said Bokuto.

“Dude,” said Kuroo. “You  _ are _ all grown up.”

“I love your dancing!” Hinata burst out. “How do you guys move like that? It’s so cool!”

Bokuto’s face split into a huge grin. He slapped Kageyama’s shoulder again. “Hey, I like this little guy! Here’s the thing, Hinata. Testu looooves checking himself out, so he just spends all day in front of the mirror trying out moves.”

“Best use of my time, really,” said Kuroo, nodding sagely. “I don’t even own a TV anymore.”

“I never thought of that!” said Hinata. He watched himself in the studio mirror when Coach Ukai called out reminders during practice, but usually he was too distracted by the music and the moves and the spinning around to pay much attention. “Do you do that too, Bokuto-san?”

“Nah, ‘cause I already know I look awesome!” Bokuto said. He spoke with the kind of bulletproof confidence that Shouyou had previously only seen in Noya. “I started out doing house in Osaka before I got into swing. You just gotta learn some jacking, my dude!”

“House, I see!” said Shouyou, who had no idea what  _ house _ meant.

“It’s a street dance style,” Kageyama whispered.

“Oh! Wow! Can you teach me, Bokuto-san?”

“You can’t just—” Kageyama began, but Bokuto’s grin had, against all odds, contrived to stretch even wider.

“Dude, yes, let’s do some house!”

“You should do it too, Kageyama. Maybe it’ll help you like your dancing more!” said Shouyou.

“Shut up! Don’t talk about that in front of people!” Kageyama hissed, going a few shades redder.

***

Listening to Oikawa and Bokuto talk was interesting. Not because anything they  _ said _ was particularly interesting, but because all Oikawa wanted to talk about was himself, and all Bokuto wanted to talk about was his boyfriend, and yet, while the precise semantic mechanics still eluded Asahi, the two of them were still somehow able to carry on a coherent conversation. Oikawa would listen and nod until Bokuto was forced to pause for breath, at which point he would seize the opportunity to leap in and change the subject, while Bokuto took a turn nodding and waited for his chance to hijack the conversation back. It was like watching a basketball game. Asahi was enthralled.

The izakaya Daichi picked had been practically empty when the seven of them arrived, but it had filled up fast, and now it was packed. The restaurant was so loud that Asahi would have had to shout to talk to Daichi and Kuroo down at the other end of the table. Instead, he alternated between listening to the Oikawa-versus-Bokuto showdown, watching Suga use his kid-friendly animal magnetism to charm Oikawa’s nephew Takeru, and wondering why he hadn’t had the good sense to make an excuse to get out of the obligatory post-workshop dinner. Daichi had thrown out the invitation to the whole team, but Noya had work, Tanaka was in severe shock after one of the Swingers girls attempted to flirt with him, Ennoshita claimed homework, and all the first-years had wanted to stay late at the studio to practice. Asahi had been on the verge of claiming homework too—he had a muslin to finish for class on Monday—but Suga had given him such a pathetic look that he’d had no choice but to cave.

Asahi could tell Suga had not had a good day. When Daichi had dragged Suga into the studio just before noon, he’d looked so bad that just standing beside him had made Asahi mildly nauseated. For the first two classes, Suga had had to stagger to the side of the room to sit down every ten minutes; he’d rebounded a bit after the break, once Daichi had forcibly administered a banana and a water bottle, but he still hadn’t been his usual cheerful self, even with the undivided attention of all the first-years fluttering anxiously around him.

It probably didn’t help that he’d spent all afternoon in the same room as a peppy, exuberant Oikawa. Suga had informed Asahi with extreme bitterness that Oikawa had a genetic predisposition towards hangover immunity. Asahi was inclined to agree with Suga that this was profoundly unfair, particularly because (Asahi had not mentioned this part out loud) every night out with Oikawa left Suga utterly destroyed for at least the next three days.

In short, by the time Bokuto and Kuroo had finished their classes, Suga had looked like he wanted nothing more than to go home and spend the remainder of the weekend unconscious. But then Daichi had said, “Suga, you’re coming, right?” and of course Suga had immediately melted.

Asahi could hear Noya’s voice in his head going  _ ooooh, see, Suga liiiiiiiiiiikes him _ , but he still wasn’t sure. Suga had been that way with Daichi for as long as he could remember. So either it didn’t mean anything, or it meant that Suga had liked Daichi since way back in high school, which seemed like a really long time—especially when Asahi thought of the six-month period in second year when Daichi had spent every lunch hour deliberating over whether or not to ask out Michimiya from the girls’ gymnastics club. As far as Asahi could remember, Suga had endured those six months the same way Asahi had, listening to Daichi, looking bored, saying, “Daichi, if you don’t ask her out, someone else  _ will _ ,” which was in fact exactly what had happened. If all that had bothered Suga, he’d never said anything about it…

The problem, Asahi realized, wasn’t that Suga didn’t talk about his feelings; it was that he  _ did _ talk about his feelings, which made it odd that he  _ hadn’t _ talked about the  _ particular  _ feelings Noya insisted he had for Daichi, if in fact they existed at all. Then again, who did he have to talk to? Daichi was obviously out of the question, and Asahi was friends with both of them. And now that Asahi thought about it, Suga had never shown much interest in anyone else, in high school or university…

Now Suga slumped against Asahi’s shoulder; across the table, Takeru, whose yawns had been increasing in frequency over the past half hour, was dozing against Oikawa in almost exactly the same position.

“Do you think it’s a requirement that you have to be pretty to join the Sendai Swingers?” Suga mumbled, and Asahi glanced at him in alarm, wondering if he’d suddenly developed the ability to read minds. That was the absolute last thing Suga needed. He was already too powerful. But he just looked droopy and exhausted, not telepathic, so hopefully this was just a coincidence.

“Um… probably not?” said Asahi, wondering where this was going. “I think it’s more, you know, the level that they’re—”

“Because they all  _ are _ . Pretty, I mean.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” said Asahi. He glanced at Suga again. Suga’s hangover had clearly weakened his defences. Asahi might never have a better opportunity to gently pry without risking retaliation, or at least not until Oikawa was back in town again. “Do you, um, like one of them?”

“Oh, they’re all nice,” Suga said vaguely, which told Asahi absolutely nothing. He sighed, and then out of nowhere, he asked, “Do you think I’m a bad friend?”

“Of course not,” said Asahi, although he couldn’t help remembering the time on a dance club trip when he’d had to run down the hall naked after Suga had stolen his towel.

“I’m not, I don’t know… pushy?”

“Not at all,” said Asahi, now remembering the time Suga had bullied him into going on the big rollercoaster at Fuji-Q Highland four times in a row, after which Asahi had been so dizzy he’d had to lie down on a bench for half an hour.

“Daichi’s so polite,” said Suga. “Sometimes I just worry that he wouldn’t say anything if I was, you know…”

“Right,” said Asahi, who did not know, and who was struggling to keep up with Suga’s apparently arbitrary chain of non sequiturs.

Suga sighed again, and slid a little further down Asahi’s arm. “Maybe I should get a tattoo. Like a sexy tattoo. What’s sexy? Like a bird or something? Are birds sexy?”

“I really don’t think you should get a tattoo,” said Asahi.

“Or I could get a cat,” said Suga. “A cat would love me.”

“Isn’t your mom allergic?” said Asahi.

“An orange cat… and I could name it Hinata…”

“Are you listening to anything I say right now, or…?”

“Akaashi’s very lucky, don’t you think? Bokuto absolutely adores him,” said Suga.

(Bokuto was now saying, “Akaashi was touring with his company last year and the Australians let him hold a koala bear, isn’t that crazy? A koala bear! They just let him hold it!” while Oikawa went “mm, yes, I see,” at appropriate intervals to indicate attentiveness.)

Asahi thought about Daichi, who was so reasonable, who had said he was going to ask Suga out after the Showdown, who was not cowardly but cautious, who might very well decide after the Showdown that he should wait just a bit longer and then just a bit longer again. Between Daichi and Ukai-san, the team was in the best shape it had ever been; there was always going to be another event on their horizon. And Asahi thought about Sugawara, who had maybe liked Daichi for a really long time, who would have probably gotten very good at hiding it, who sighed wistfully over Bokuto’s overwhelming love for his boyfriend, and who was apparently under the mistaken impression that birds were sexy, which made Asahi think that Suga was probably about as hopeless when it came to romance as Asahi was himself.

Asahi said, very carefully, “Suga, um… if there’s… something you want to tell someone, then… maybe you should just, ah… tell them. Instead of… whatever you’re doing right now.”

“Well! Aren’t you cryptic tonight,” Suga said lightly. “I guess you’re the expert, though.”

Asahi had no idea what that was supposed to mean, but because he had been thinking of Daichi, and thinking of Daichi reminded Asahi of their embarrassing conversation last night with Noya at Karasuno, just to be on the safe side, Asahi said, “Hey… you know Nishinoya and I aren’t, um, dating, right?”

Suga raised his head off Asahi’s arm. His expression was one of blank stupefaction, as if Asahi had just taken his beer and dumped it in Suga’s lap. Already, though, Suga was schooling his face into a smile that was just a little bit too casual. “Of course I knew that. Obviously. Everyone knows that.”

Asahi believed him exactly zero percent. Wonderful. Well, that explained why none of the girls he knew ever showed any interest in him. Maybe he needed to change up his look. Ennoshita had definitely had at least one girlfriend; maybe Asahi could ask him for advice. Then he thought of all the times he’d walked through downtown Sendai in the summer with Noya, who might be wearing, for instance, his sparkly boots, a crop top, and one dangly earring, and who would reach up to poke Asahi in the ribs and demand, “Asahi, buy me an ice cream!” Hmm. Asahi wasn’t sure anything he did to his look would be able to counteract that.

“Are you two going to compete in the short showcase again this year?” Suga asked.

All of the gyoza Asahi had just eaten contrived to congeal into a sort of leaden bowling ball sitting heavily in the pit of Asahi’s stomach. Yes, the short showcase. Two months wasn’t much time to put together a choreography from scratch, but it was doable. After all, Noya worked best when he had an imminent deadline looming over him after procrastinating to the last possible moment. And Noya had been making some pointed comments lately—and Asahi had even found himself listening to music as he worked on class projects and thinking  _ hmm, a swing-out with a delayed swivel would work really well with that trumpet line, and then a popover right on that hit _ —but then he remembered Swing Out Tokyo, and how it had felt like performing had ruined dance for him…

“I don’t know,” he told Suga. “I’ve been busy with school, so…”

“Right, and Coach Ukai does work us hard already. It was really nice to see you guys perform at the festival, though,” said Suga.

Asahi glanced at him suspiciously, trying to figure out what he was scheming, but the comment actually seemed to be genuine.

“Well, we’re, uh, thinking about it,” Asahi said noncommittally, wishing he had some of Suga’s almost unflappable calmness, frustrated to realize he never would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmmm a lot of this chapter feels like filler to me but it exists and I am done with it and I am not looking back thank you and goodnight


	6. Dream a Little Dream of Me (Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong, 1956)

With his face glued to the window of Suga’s mom’s car as the highway rushed by, Shouyou said, “I went to Tokyo on a school trip once! I snuck out of the hotel to go dancing.”

“You  _ did _ ?” spluttered Yachi.

“Yeah, it was awesome!” said Shouyou. “Except at the social I met this huge asshole—”

“Oh no, really? Who was it?”

“It was me,” said Kageyama, demonstrating astounding self-awareness and not the slightest hint of remorse.

“But other than that, it was awesome! What’s the Exchange like, Suga-san?”

“Oh, it’s a lot of fun,” said Suga. He swerved into the passing lane while Asahi clutched at the dashboard and squeezed his eyes shut. Somewhere behind them, Coach Ukai was driving the rest of the team; the Tohoku University Swing Dance Team’s second official team trip of the year had as its destination the annual Tokyo Swing Exchange, which boasted two-and-a-half days of what Noya and Tanaka had promised was near-constant social dancing. “The Tokyo dancers are great, and usually there’s a fun group that comes up from Osaka. Sometimes we get a few of the Seoul crowd. Mostly the same people end up coming to the Showdown, too. Right, Asahi?”

“Please slow down,” moaned Asahi.

“Don’t worry, we’re fine,” Suga said soothingly, and sped up to pass a truck. “Did you get in trouble when you snuck out on your school trip, Hinata?”

“Oh yeah, a ton of trouble. I got yelled at a bunch, and my teacher called my mom, so I was stuck babysitting my little sister for ages,” said Shouyou. His mom had yelled at him too and had made it out like the babysitting was some big, serious punishment, but the truth was that Shouyou had been stuck babysitting Natsu all the time for years beforehand and was still stuck babysitting her all the time now, so he hadn’t really minded, especially now that Natsu was finally old enough to be fun. Last week he’d even started teaching her the Shim Sham.

“Are people friendly, Suga-san?” asked Yachi, sounding worried. She had been fidgeting with her hair tie for the past forty minutes. Shouyou had thought maybe she had to pee or something, but now it finally occurred to him that she might be nervous. “There isn’t a lot of drinking, is there?”

“Everyone’s really nice,” Suga said, calmly executing three lane changes in a row to pass a couple of slower cars (Asahi flinched and tried to sink down in his seat, but the car was so small and Asahi’s legs were so long that he didn’t really have anywhere to go). “People drink a bit, but they’re mostly there to dance, and lots of dancers are your age. You can always come find one of us upper-years if you get into any trouble—most of us aren’t really big drinkers.”

For some reason, this made Asahi laugh, although the laugh quickly morphed into a yelp as Suga took a turn at high speed.

“Hey, how come the captain doesn’t drive?” asked Shouyou, rubbing his nose where the momentum of the turn had slammed his head against the window. Once Tanaka’s sister Saeko had generously offered him a ride home after practice; she drove like a total maniac, with an alarming glint in her eye, but Suga just drove with an odd combination of total tranquility and breakneck speed, as if he had misread every single one of the signs noting the speed limit on the side of the highway.

“He does drive—he’s an excellent driver. Always goes exactly the limit,” said Suga, accelerating again. “But he’s not twenty-one until December, so he doesn’t have his full license yet. Hey, did you guys know that Daichi and Asahi were born less than twenty-four hours apart? In the same hospital, too! They were destined to be best friends.”

“Really, Asahi-san?” said Yachi. Ever since their first performance, she’d gotten a lot less shy about talking with Asahi. “Did you two grow up together?”

“No, we didn’t meet until high school—Suga,  _ please _ slow down—”

“We’re fine, we’re fine,” said Suga, and patted Asahi on the knee. Shockingly, this did not seem to do much to calm Asahi, who was staring at Suga’s one-handed grip on the steering wheel with abject horror.

“Are you going to get your license when you’re twenty-one too, Asahi-san?” Kageyama asked politely.

“No way. Driving makes me nervous,” said Asahi, although Shouyou couldn’t really imagine that driving by himself could make Asahi any more nervous that he was right now with Suga behind the wheel.

Suga’s propensity for going fast meant that they arrived at the motel twenty minutes before Coach Ukai with the rest of the team. It was basically identical to the one Shouyo had stayed at on his last trip to Tokyo with his third-year class: the team had one big, plain room with a bunch of futons folded in the cupboards and shared bathrooms down the hall.

“Ahh, just like in high school,” Suga said fondly. He pressed a hand over his mouth in an ineffective attempt to hide his grin. “Do you remember that trip in third year, when we put a tomato in Daichi’s pillowcase?”

“You mean when  _ you _ put a tomato in Daichi’s pillowcase and told him I did it?” said Asahi, looking pained.

Shouyou was amazed to hear Suga giggle, actually giggle. “He didn’t believe me for a second. He lay down and it just  _ squished _ … ooh, he was so mad…” Suga glanced guiltily at the first-years, who were staring at Suga and Asahi in astonishment, and said, “Ah—you didn’t hear any of this, alright?”

“I can’t believe Suga-san would do something like that!” Yachi whispered to Shouyou and Kageyama, when the upper-years had moved on to some other high school reminiscence.

“I can,” said Kageyama. “I saw him stealing the laces out of Asahi’s dance shoes on Wednesday.”

“You did  _ not _ !” said Shouyou—Suga always acted like such an adult! He was always helping Daichi keep everyone in order! He walked around with a full first-aid kit in his bag! The tomato, the shoelaces, that was the kind of stuff Noya and Tanaka would do, the kind of stuff that would get them yelled at by Daichi. Shouyou tried to imagine Daichi yelling at Suga, and failed spectacularly. It just seemed wrong.

“He’s like a little kid!” Yachi exclaimed, scandalized, delighted. She staggered slightly under the weight of her overnight bag. It wasn’t big, but then neither was she.

“Yacchan, are you staying with us, or the Sendai girls?” Shouyou asked curiously. On his high school trip, the girls and boys had slept separately, but in university that seemed like it mattered a little less, and Yachi  _ was _ part of their team. She hung out with Kiyoko-san a lot, but Kiyoko-san was staying with a friend in Tokyo, and Yachi spent more time with the boys’ team than with the other girls on the Swingers.

Yachi said, looking slightly worried but very determined, “I’m—I’m staying with the team! The captain said it was okay. I’d rather go to the socials with you guys. And Suga-san said I can sleep next to him… I guess I’ll have to keep an eye on my shoelaces, though…”

When Coach Ukai finally dropped off the rest of the team, Daichi made them congregate and gave a series of firm instructions, as if they’d come for a conference and not a weekend of social dancing: make sure to have dinner, return to the hotel by eight to walk over together, keep quiet when you came back, don’t make trouble in the baths, stay hydrated, be respectful of  _ all  _ your teammates (which Shouyo suspected was Daichi’s tactful way of reminding everyone not to go around naked when Yachi was in the room). Shouyou fidgeted anxiously the whole time; they were finally in Tokyo, they would be dancing all weekend, they had the rest of the afternoon free, and Noya had  _ promised _ —

The second Daichi was done talking, Suga dragged him and Asahi off to find “the spiciest mapo tofu in Tokyo,” Ennoshita went to meet up with some of the Tokyo girls he knew, Kageyama went unenthusiastically to visit some relatives, and Noya turned to Shouyou with a grin and said, “Dude, are you ready?”

“Yes!” said Shouyou, nodding frantically.

After Noya had showed off his cool heels for the first time at the Izumi-ku festival, he’d told Shouyou the best place in Japan to buy them was a dance store in Tokyo. “We’ll go together next time we’re there!” Noya had promised, and Shouyou hadn’t forgotten, and now they were  _ here _ , and Shouyou was finally going to buy his own pair—maybe glittery gold like the ones Noya wore to socials sometimes, or bright purple like Kiyoko-san’s—and his footwork would look amazing like Noya’s, and he would be  _ tall _ .

Tanaka came with them, optimistic about the chances of very casually running into some cute girl who worked at the dance store. Yachi wanted to come too, and because Yachi was coming then Yamaguchi wanted to come (Shouyou and Kageyama had agreed between themselves that Yamaguchi  _ maybe _ had a  _ little _ crush on her), and that meant Tsukishima came too, for want of anything else to do. Noya took them on the train, and then they walked for a bit, and the whole time Shouyou was craning his neck, staring around at the city. Twice Tanaka had to grab the back of his shirt and save him from walking right into street signs. Shouyou had been to Tokyo before with his school, but it felt so much more exciting now, being here on his own with the team.

When Noya led them through the door of a small downtown store with a flourish, Shouyou was surprised—Tanaka disappointed—to see Kuroo behind the counter, his hair just as spiky and wild as it had been when he’d come to Sendai a few weeks ago. He appeared to be in the midst of a heated argument with a short guy (“It’s a solo move. It starts on  _ eight _ ,” Kuroo was saying; “But it  _ obviously _ just starts on  _ one _ . What the hell happens on eight? The prep doesn’t  _ count _ . It’s a  _ prep _ ,” Angry Short Guy was saying). There was another short guy with shoulder-length hair sitting on the counter beside them, slouched over his phone, totally ignoring both of them.

“Kuroo-san!” said Shouyou, waving excitedly.

Kuroo glanced up and grinned. He always looked devious when he smiled, like he’d set up a practical joke and was just waiting for an unsuspecting victim to stumble right into it. “Hey, it’s the Sendai shorties. You guys here for the Exchange?”

“Dude, we’re not  _ all _ short,” Tanaka protested.

“My apologies. I assumed you guys were on bodyguard duty, man,” said Kuroo, and Tanaka looked pleased.

“I didn’t know you worked here!” said Shouyou.

Kuroo shrugged. “I don’t really. My dad owns the place, so I help out sometimes when I’m not in the lab. Yaku, get out of here, we have real customers.”

“I  _ am _ a real customer!” Angry Short Guy—Yaku—protested. He smacked a slim shoebox sitting by the cash. “I’ve been trying to buy these stupid shoes for forty minutes! How come you’re not kicking Kenma out? He’s just playing games on his phone!”

“Kenma can do what he wants,” Kuroo said defensively. “Besides, unlike you, he’s well-behaved.”

Bored Short Guy—Kenma—continued to ignore both of them.

“So, Tanaka, how’s your sister?” asked Kuroo, while Yaku spluttered indignantly.

Tanaka made a face. “Still too old for you, dude.”

“I’m very mature for my age,” said Kuroo. “Hey, it’s tall glasses dude. How’s it going, man?”

“It’s Tsukishima,” Tsukishima said stiffly.

“Tsukki, right, I remember. What can I do for you guys?”

“Hello? Am I  _ invisible _ ?” said Yaku.

“Shouyou! Check  _ these _ out!” Noya called. He’d picked a shoe off the display on the wall and was waving it excitedly. Shouyou looked at it, and felt his heart stop. The shoe was green. It was iridescent. It had a heel and a funky star-shaped cut-out in the side. And, when Shouyou ran over to touch it, the leather was soft as warm butter, the sole just slippery enough to slide a little bit on a nice wood floor. Shouyou was in  _ love _ . That was  _ his _ shoe.

“Can I try those on?” Shouyou demanded.

Kuroo stared at the shoe, and then at Shouyou, but he smoothed his surprise over quickly. “Yeah, man, sure. You’re, like, what, a twenty-five-point-five?” he said.

For once, Shouyou was happy to be short, because it meant his feet were small and  _ that _ meant Kuroo had the shoes in his size, even though they were meant for women. Shouyou slid them on, shivering a little in anticipation—the leather was  _ so _ soft—then stood up, and found himself… tall.  _ Wow _ . Well, tall _ er _ . But still.

Kuroo squeezed Shouyou’s foot to test the fit of the shoe and nodded in satisfaction. “That’s a good size. Mirror’s over there if you want to check yourself out. Test them on the floor, too.”

Shouyou walked carefully over to the mirror; the heels felt unfamiliar, but they were thick and solid, and when he danced he put his weight on the balls of his feet anyway, so the feeling wasn’t actually that strange. He thought he could dance in them pretty easily. And when he looked at himself in the mirror—

Shouyou stared. He looked… different. The heels changed his posture. They made his calves look good. He wasn’t dressed up or anything right now, but he’d started wearing tighter pants recently, like Noya’s, and the shoes went well with them. He checked furtively to make sure that no one was watching him right now—they weren’t—and put a hand on his hip, and twisted one knee in front of the other, the way he would for an applejack. Then he blinked a couple of times, feeling weirdly like he was about to cry, but… in a good way, sort of.

Meanwhile, Yachi had picked out a pair of heels to try too, and Tanaka had found a pair from the men’s section, and Kuroo had somehow managed to ensnare Tsukishima in his argument with Yaku. While Yamaguchi offered Yachi hesitant feedback (“Um, they look nice with your skirt? But—they would probably look good with pants, too?”) and Noya lusted loudly over Shouyou’s shoes in blue (“I could just tell Asahi I lost the receipt, and then maybe he wouldn’t get pissed at me?”), Shouyou found himself on his own with Kenma, his soon-to-be new shoes hugging his feet wonderfully.

Well, the point of the Exchange was to meet new people, after all.

“Hey!” said Shouyou. “So, your name’s Kenma, right? I’m Shouyou. Do you work here?”

Kenma glanced up, then went back to staring at his phone. “No, Kuroo just lets me hang out here.”

“Oh, so you’re friends with Kuroo-san? So do you dance too then?”

Kenma didn’t even pretend to look away from his phone this time. “Yeah, sort of, sometimes.”

Undeterred by Kenma’s obvious lack of enthusiasm, Shouyou forged onward. “Do you lead? Can you lead a swing-out?” When Kenma nodded, Shouyou added hopefully, “Could you maybe lead a couple on me right now? So I can test out the shoes?”

Kenma didn’t sigh or anything, but nor did he look particularly excited as he tucked his phone into his pocket, slid off the counter, and took Shouyou’s hand. With the heels, Shouyou was a little taller than Kenma, which was wildly thrilling; the only times Shouyou ever danced with a leader shorter than him was when Yachi or Noya led him in practice. And Kenma led nice swing-outs; they didn’t have Kageyama’s energy, but they were very relaxed, and his catch was nice and comfortable. Normally Shouyou tried not to look at his feet when he danced—Daichi was always calling, “Head’s up, guys!” in practice—but he couldn’t help glancing down now, watching the shoes sparkle under the store lights as he swivelled. He grinned. They were perfect. He felt like he’d been meant to dance in them.

“You lead really nice swing-outs!” said Shouyou as Kenma sent him out again.

“Oh… thanks,” said Kenma. He seemed faintly surprised at the compliment.

“Do you dance anything other than lindy? A couple people on our team are learning balboa! Not me, though, not yet. But Kageyama, he’s my regular practice partner, he said he’d teach me a bit, even though he’s a really bad teacher.”

“No, I just do lindy…”

“Oh yeah? You must really like it, then!”

Kenma shrugged. “It’s alright. I mostly just go out when Kuroo makes me go out. I don’t really care.”

“Really? But don’t you ever have one of those dances with someone where you come out of it and you’re like  _ wow, that was awesome, I feel like such an amazing dancer! _ And then you just want to dance forever? I love that feeling. And my partner Kageyama, me and him are working on aerials together, and those  _ really  _ feel amazing—like you’re flying! I’m the flyer, obviously. Do you do aerials and stuff?”

“Not really,” said Kenma, but he was looking at Shouyou differently now, almost intrigued.

“You’re coming to all the dances for the Exchange this weekend, right? We should dance together!”

“I’m coming to some of them. I’d… like that,” Kenma said, and the corners of his mouth lifted in a very tiny smile. Shouyou beamed.

“Awesome! Thanks for helping me test the shoes. I love them! Oh, hey, if you’re friends with Kuroo-san, do you know Bokuto-san too? Is he coming tonight?” Shouyou desperately wanted to dance with Kuroo and Bokuto. He’d been thinking about it practically the whole car ride here.

“He pretty much always comes, yeah,” said Kenma.

“What about his, um, boyfriend?” Shouyou asked. He’d been kind of surprised to find out Bokuto had a boyfriend—a boyfriend! He’d never met a guy who had a boyfriend before, he didn’t think. But Bokuto was really cool, and the way he talked about his boyfriend made it obvious that said boyfriend was  _ incredibly _ cool, so Shouyou was eager to meet him.

“Akaashi? No, he’s not really into swing. He’s with the Tokyo ballet,” said Kenma, and he seemed unable to resist adding, with a slight note of pride that made Shouyou think Kenma was actually very proud of Akaashi indeed, “He’s in the running to be the principal next year.”

“Wow, that’s awesome!” said Shouyou, who had no idea what that meant, but guessed it was a good thing. Ballet—like Kageyama. And at the workshop in Sendai, Kageyama had gone all red when Bokuto had said Akaashi liked his dancing… Shouyou would have to interrogate Kageyama about him later.

Back at the hotel, Shouyou showed off the new shoes to general approval, even from Kageyama, who narrowed his eyes at them before nodding and saying, “Looks good.”

“See how tall they make me?” said Hinata. “Almost as tall as you!”

Kageyama snorted and said, “As if.”

“You  _ are _ almost as tall as Suga, though,” Daichi pointed out, grinning.

Suga, who had been laughing along with others, looked stricken, as if Daichi had just dumped a bucket of something cold and slimy down the back of his shirt. He leapt off his futon where he’d been sitting cross-legged and lunged for Hinata, who ducked behind an alarmed Asahi. “Nooooooo, Hinata, don’t do this to me! Take them off, you have to take them off—!”

***

Somewhere around 2:30 in the morning, when the band finally played the last song of the night, when Daichi had sweated through his third shirt, when his feet hurt and his head was throbbing and exhaustion had made the crowded room blurry and surreal, Suga yawned and said, “Well, I think I’ll head back to the hotel.”

“But dude, late-night blues,” Kuroo protested. “It’s just across the street.”

“Yeah man!” said Bokuto, draping himself over Kuroo’s shoulders. “Yamamoto’s DJing. You  _ gotta _ come.”

Suga laughed and waved a noncommittal hand. His hair was dark with sweat, and his face glowed pink, even in the low light. “Ah, I don’t really do blues…”

“ _ Everyone _ can do late-night blues, man. I even got Kenma to come once,” said Kuroo.

“Once and only once,” said Bokuto.

“Hey, he’s a busy man. Late-night blues conflicts with his gaming schedule. I can respect that. But, listen, Suga, there’s fancy pizza. I’m just saying,” said Kuroo.

“You should come, Suga,” said Daichi, made bold by chronic dehydration and the hallucinatory qualities of Suga’s ethereal post-dance 2:30 a.m. beauty. “We could dance a few songs.”

Suga stared at him, his blush deepening, antsy fingers brushing the damp hair off his forehead. “Oh! Um—but I’m—I’m very sweaty, I’m not sure you want—”

“I don’t mind,” said Daichi.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” said Kuroo. “I can  _ literally _ feel Kou’s nasty elbow sweat dripping down the back of my neck right now.”

“Dude, you love it, though,” said Bokuto.

“I don’t, man, I really don’t,” said Kuroo.

Suga laughed again, but he was still looking at Daichi, and there was something hopeful in his big brown eyes. “Well—maybe for a bit, if you’re…” He trailed off, and tugged up the back of his shirt to wipe the sweat off his neck, and suddenly seemed to have trouble meeting Daichi’s eyes. “I’ll just—I’ll just check on the first-years, before we go.”

When Suga had disappeared into the crowd of dancers milling around, Kuroo and Bokuto leaned in close to Daichi, grinning identical, evil grins.

“Dude,” said Kuroo.

“ _ Dude _ ,” agreed Bokuto.

“Shut up,” said Daichi, without much heat. He had a feeling he’d just signed himself up to a lifetime subscription of suggestive teasing from his so-called friends, but that was worth it for the chance to slow dance a few songs with Suga when he’d gone so far past the point of drop-dead exhaustion that he was incapable of feeling self-conscious. And maybe one day— _ after the Showdown _ , he told himself,  _ if it seems appropriate _ —he’d be brave enough to hold Suga like that without the excuse of 2:30 a.m., or Tokyo, or even music.

***

“Are you wearing your new shoes tonight?” Kageyama asked as the team dozed over a very late breakfast in a small Tokyo café the next morning. Suga kept having to shake Yachi awake as her head dipped closer and closer towards her fat, fluffy pancakes.

“Yeah!” Shouyou said, spraying flecks of eggs and tomato across the table at Tanaka, who threw up his hands defensively and protested, “Dude, swallow before you talk!”

Shouyou forced himself to chew and swallow. “Sorry, Tanaka-san! Anyway, yeah, I am! Did you see me in them last night? They were so awesome! I did a whole bunch of slides!” He’d tripped a couple of times while he was still getting the hang of the heel, but his partners had caught him before he totally wiped out, so really all of Kageyama’s pessimism had been for nothing.

“You should bring your regular shoes too,” said Kageyama.

“Huh? How come?”

“Just… in case,” said Kageyama, and refused to say anything more on the subject.

And even if he would never have admitted it to Kageyama, Hinata was glad for the recommendation, because after several hours of dancing last night and several more that evening, his beautiful new shoes finally betrayed him and started to rub. He’d just grabbed a Band-Aid from Suga and swapped out his heels for his regular shoes when Kageyama ran up to him and started dragging him back onto the dance floor.

“Hey, hey!” Shouyou protested. He’d been hoping to snag one of the girls from Osaka for the next dance, the tall one with the cool headscarf who’d done so much cool improvisation when he’d danced with her last night. “You’re supposed to  _ ask _ first, dummy!”

Kageyama just nodded to the cluster of people congregating in the middle of the dance floor and said, sounding almost excited, “Jam circle. We should go in.”

Shouyou’s heart exploded. At least, that was what it felt like. He surged forward, and suddenly Kageyama was the one being dragged behind. In the middle of the circle, Kuroo’s friend Yaku was whirling Kiyoko-san around while the dancers ringed around them clapped and shouted.

Kageyama put his mouth right by Shouyou’s ear so he could be heard over the noise. “Knickerbocker combo?”

Shouyou nodded vigorously, too excited to speak. Asahi and Noya had explained their rule for aerials—before they performed one, they had to do it well one hundred times in practice (“Except you two are freaks, so you could probably do fewer reps,” Noya had added, in a way that suggested this was intended as a compliment). By that rule, Shouyou and Kageyama had a few aerials that were performance-ready—it was just that Shouyou had never actually performed an aerial before, ever. Weirdly, though, he didn’t feel nervous. He just kept thinking of the jam circle at his first ever Tokyo dance, of watching Kageyama flip his partner all the way around his back, of listening to the crowd cheer and knowing with absolute certainty that he’d never wanted to do something so badly before in his entire life. He thought a little wistfully of his new shoes—but even he knew that performing an aerial in new shoes was a bad idea, which had to be why Kageyama had asked that morning.

The phrase was ending now, and Kageyama had his arm around Shouyou’s back—and then he was swinging him out into the middle of the circle while Yaku and Kiyoko-san slid back to join the crowd—Kageyama led another swing out, whirling Shouyou around in a sushi roll, which they’d practiced as their lead-in—

“Ready?” Kageyama asked as Shouyou spun, so that only he could hear, and Shouyou called back, “Ready!”

He’d finally learned to wait, to feel the extra energy Kageyama put into the rock-step when he prepped for an aerial, to just bounce that energy right back instead of leaping in on his own. Shouyou planted his feet and  _ jumped _ —he felt Kageyama’s arm catch him at the waist as he flipped—and then he was in the air, hanging for just a second, grinning upside-down at Kageyama as he flew by, while Kageyama grinned back and someone in the crowd who sounded like Bokuto shouted, “ _ Yes _ , Hinata, my  _ man! _ ”

Later, when the song had ended and the circle had dispersed, after Bokuto and Noya and Tanaka and some other dancers he didn’t even recognize had come up and high-fived him, with the feeling of flying still fizzing through his body, Shouyou nearly collided with Suga as he ran to grab his water bottle. “Suga-san, did you see us, did you see us?” Shouyou demanded, once Suga had steadied him.

“I did! You guys looked amazing!” said Suga, beaming proudly at Shouyou and at Kageyama beside him.

“Your little Chibi-chan can really jump, can’t he?” Oikawa said to Suga, and Shouyou thought  _ crap! _ He hadn’t even noticed Oikawa standing there. Shouyou glanced at Kageyama, who had slipped right back into his usual robot stare.

Shouyou didn’t really understand the thing with Kageyama and Oikawa, even though he’d pestered Kageyama incessantly until Kageyama finally broke down and tried to explain. All he’d really said even then was  _ I really looked up to him, but he hated me _ . That seemed stupid to Shouyou, but even if he didn’t get it, he could tell it really bugged Kageyama.

Suga nudged Oikawa, whose handsome face was marred for a moment by uncharacteristic awkwardness. He cleared his throat and said, “You looked good too, Tobio-chan. Your dancing has really improved since you moved to Sendai.”

“Thanks,” said Kageyama, sounding wary.

Suga nudged Oikawa again and muttered, “Go on…”

“Ah… right. Would my cute little understudy like to dance? You can lead,” said Oikawa, holding out a graceful hand to Kageyama.

“Uh. Okay,” said Kageyama, staring at Oikawa’s hand before he reached out to take it—cautiously, as if he expected Oikawa to yank it back at any second and yell  _ psych! _ “Yeah. Okay.”

“Look at him, all grown up,” Suga said fondly, as he watched the two of them walk out onto the dance floor together. Shouyou wasn’t sure whether Suga was talking about Kageyama or Oikawa. He stood with Suga for a while, watching the two of them dance; Kageyama wasn’t really smiling, but Shouyou could tell he was having a good time.

***

“Okay, how’s everyone feeling?” Coach Ukai asked at practice on Monday, as the team gazed at him blearily. Asahi had gone through the whole day in a haze, twice nearly sewing his own shirt into the interfacing on his latest design project when he started to doze over his sewing machine. 

“Like I got hit by a truck,” mumbled Tanaka, who was slumped across Noya’s lap, succinctly summing up Asahi’s own condition. There was a chorus of weary agreement from the rest of the team. Even Suga, who had gone to bed early on the last night of the Exchange so he’d have the sentience to drive back to Sendai in the morning, stifled a yawn as he let his head rest on Daichi’s shoulder. Only Hinata and Kageyama appeared to have bounced back to their usual energy levels, as if they hadn’t spent the greater portion of the past seventy-two hours dancing. Asahi was barely even surprised by now. He was becoming more and more inclined to agree with Noya’s theory that the two first-years were bioengineered superhumans with quick-charge battery packs tucked in amongst their regular organs.

“Too bad,” said Ukai-san, even though the weekend in Tokyo had left him looking a little worse than usual too. “We’ve got one month till the Showdown and lots to work on. Let’s get warmed up!”

“One month, Asahi,” said Noya later. They were in the park by Asahi’s apartment, sitting out in the warm air, eating pre-packaged bentos from the konbini nearby; Noya had invited himself over for dinner, again, but Asahi had been too tired to bother with cooking. “I guess that’s pretty tight even for us, huh?”

“Yeah,” said Asahi. He didn’t have to ask what Noya meant. They would be performing with the team at the Showdown, but they wouldn’t be doing their own routine for the short showcase. They hadn’t signed up for the Strictly either; Noya was probably doing the Mix-and-Match, but Asahi was sitting that one out too.  _ There’s nothing wrong with taking a break _ , Daichi had said;  _ you’ll have plenty of other chances _ , Suga had said. They were right, of course, but…

Asahi watched a woman pass by them with her fluffy little dog, and swallowed down a lump in his throat that had nothing to do with the piece of fish he’d just eaten. He forced himself to say, “If you wanted to start working with a new partner—”

“Dude, shut up,” said Noya, and flicked a piece of unidentifiable pickled vegetable at him. It sailed past Asahi’s shoulder and into the bushes. The lady with the dog gave the two of them a disapproving look that made Asahi cringe with embarrassment.

“Kageyama’s really good. And he likes performing,” Asahi said, stubbornly intent on digging his own grave.

Noya just laughed. “Shouyou and Kageyama are, like, married. I’d be a total homewrecker if I tried to muscle in.”

“You could move to Tokyo,” said Asahi. “Or back to Seoul.”

“Ha! You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“Noya, I’m serious—”

“So am I,” Noya said stubbornly. “Stop trying to convince me you’re holding me back or whatever you’ve tricked yourself into thinking this time. One day you’re going to be ready to compete again, and then you’re gonna need me to whip your ass into shape. I’m not about to let some five-seven dope waltz in and take my spot. Okay? Now stop feeling sorry for yourself and let’s talk about something  _ really  _ important: Tsukishima without his glasses. I know, I know, but try to imagine it. Would he or would he not be hot?”

***

When Daichi and Suga walked into the studio on Saturday for their balboa lesson, Suga pointed excitedly at Kageyama, started hitting Daichi’s arm, and said, “Hey, look, look! Kageyama and I are wearing the same shirt!”

Suga and Kageyama were, in fact, wearing the same shirt. It had blue and green stripes, and a very small yellow duck embroidered on the t-shirt pocket. It was about normal for Suga, but was possibly the most exciting thing Daichi had ever seen Kageyama wear.

“Daichi, you have to take a picture of us!” said Suga. He ran over and slung an arm around Kageyama’s neck, a huge grin plastered across his face. “Kageyama, when did you get so stylish? You have good taste! Come on, Daichi, take a picture!”

“My mom bought it for me,” Kageyama admitted. He sounded slightly sheepish, but he also looked very pleased to have Suga’s undivided attention.

“Suga-san, you are  _ way _ too excited about this,” said Noya, also grinning. “You try to act all cool, but you’re just a big dork, aren’t you?”

“That’s exactly the kind of thing I would expect to hear from a jealous non-member of the Cool T-Shirt Club,” said Suga. “Smile, Kageyama! Daichi, are you taking the picture?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m taking the picture,” said Daichi, pulling out his phone. He had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. Noya was right; Suga’s excitement was ridiculous. It was also debilitatingly, devastatingly, terminally cute. Daichi tried to think stoic, serious, boring thoughts as he took the picture; he tried not to look at Suga’s blinding smile on the screen of his phone, or the way his eyes crinkled into happy half-moons; he tried to ignore the fond, exasperated voice in his head that said  _ help, I love him so much _ .

Luckily, Noya put them to work on lollies and toss-outs, and and for the next hour that was all Daichi could think about: keeping the rhythm of his basics, staying relaxed, feeling the twist and compression as he directed Suga in and out, catching Suga in the tight spin of the toss-out. And then, as usual, Noya was yelling, “Crap, I’m late!” and sprinting out the door to get to work, after which Hinata arrived to practice with Kageyama while Daichi and Suga moved on to practicing for the Strictly.

Suga put his hands on his hips and looked at Daichi in a way that made Daichi instantly uneasy. “You know what we need to do,” he said.

And of course Daichi did know. It was written down in their practice plan, where it had been lurking for months, vaguely threatening, utterly unavoidable. He sighed and said, “Fast dancing?”

“Fast dancing,” Suga confirmed. “Don’t worry, I made a playlist.”

This did, in fact, make Daichi worry. “Does it start at 180 BPM and work up gradually?” Daichi asked. That was what Coach Ukai had suggested when Daichi had asked him for advice.

“You know, I considered doing that,” said Suga, hitting Daichi with a sunny and terrifying smile. “But then I thought, well, if we start out right at 280 BPM, everything else will feel nice and easy afterwards!”

“Suga,” said Daichi, “you realize if you kill me now, you won’t have a partner for the competition, right?”

“Oh, don’t be silly. A spry young thing like you should have no problem at all keeping up with an old-timer like me.”

“Six months, Suga… you’re older than me by  _ six months _ …”

They managed half an hour of fast dance practice until Daichi collapsed to the studio floor, Suga flopping out beside him a minute later. For a while they just panted for breath and watched Hinata and Kageyama, who naturally seemed to have no trouble at all keeping up with all of Suga’s fast music. Eventually, though, when even the first-years were starting to look worn out, Daichi switched out Suga’s phone for his and put on something more moderate. They worked on pop turns for a while, and then on quick stops, but pretty soon they just devolved into social dancing for fun, and after Hinata and Kageyama eventually left they gave up trying to pretend they were actually practicing anymore at all. Daichi’s phone had jumped to Like It Is, and Daichi was tired enough to be a little bit lazy, and Suga was relaxed and happy, and Daichi just wanted to dance with him.

“I have a stupid question for you,” Daichi said, because he’d been thinking about it for a while now.

Suga brought Daichi in for a swing-out and twisted him into an outside turn. “Okay?”

“Did you know Asahi and Noya… aren’t dating?”

“Of course,” said Suga. “Did you not know that?”

Wow. Had Daichi really been the only one? He could have sworn he and Suga had talked about it before. Was he just an idiot? “No, no, I knew that too,” Daichi lied, too embarrassed to admit otherwise. “I was just… checking.”

Suga brought Daichi back in again and led a tuck-turn. Daichi loved Suga’s tuck-turns. A tuck-turn wasn’t a showy move, but Suga always did them nicely, leading the twist with his body so that the rotation felt easy, natural. Some of the other leaders Daichi danced with used their arms too much. Maybe that was something to work on with the team after the Showdown, actually; he’d have to suggest it to Coach Ukai-san—if Ukai-san wanted to stay on with them, of course. That was another thing he’d have to deal with…

“I’m just kidding,” Suga admitted as they came together on a sugar push. “I totally thought they were dating. Don’t tell Asahi.”

Daichi laughed. “Thank God. Me too. I figured he’d only told you about it because you were sensitive. I was a little offended he never said anything to me, actually.”

Suga laughed too, pulling him for another sugar push. “I figured he’d only told  _ you _ because he thought I’d tease him! I was  _ extremely _ offended!”

“You would’ve teased him, though,” Daichi pointed out.

“Well, obviously. I mean, not about him being—not about him dating a, um, guy,” Suga added hurriedly. “That’s—of course I don’t care about that.”

“Right,” Daichi agreed, hoping the exact nature of his feelings on the matter of guys dating other guys weren’t being broadcasted all over his face. “No, that’s—me neither. It doesn’t matter.”

“Right,” Suga echoed. He led a few more swing-outs, and Daichi concentrated on doing a different footwork variation on each one, hoping to persuade himself the sudden lull in the conversation wasn’t awkward. They danced all the time without talking. Suga was probably just focused right now.

“If you were dating someone, you’d tell me, right?” Suga said abruptly. “Or if you were—interested? In someone?”

Daichi swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “Of course I would,” he said, and told himself it wasn’t  _ entirely _ a lie. He  _ would  _ have told Suga, if he’d been interested in anyone  _ else _ . “I mean—you would too, right?”

“Yes, of course,” said Suga. “You’re my best friend. You basically know everything about me already.”

“Not everything,” said Daichi.

“I said  _ basically _ ,” said Suga.

The song ended. Suga bit his lip. He hadn’t let go of Daichi’s hand, his palm still loosely clasped against Daichi’s. “So… you’re not, then. Interested in anyone. Right now.”

“Um,” said Daichi.

Perhaps attuned to the sudden fraughtness of the moment, Daichi’s phone decided to make things infinitely more uncomfortable by shuffling through his music library to settle on Dream a Little Dream of Me. As the first bar oozed through the studio speakers, Daichi immediately recalled every time he’d listened to it in his apartment while he washed his dishes or folded his laundry, letting his hands do the work while his mind melted into the music, imagining his arm around Suga’s waist, their hands clasped, stepping together to the heavy, sleepy rhythm—the way they had at the late-night blues dance in Tokyo, except without the necessity of mind-numbing exhaustion to lower their boundaries. Suga found slow songs hard to lead, and that made him self-conscious, but Daichi didn’t care; he just liked the feeling of pressing against Suga, the music pulsing in his body moving them in time together.

Listening to the song here in the studio, with the real Suga in front of him, made Daichi feel like Ella Fitzgerald was calling him out personally. He was very aware of his hand in Suga’s, of Ella crooning  _ just hold me tight and tell me you’ll miss me _ .

“My—my phone’s on shuffle,” Daichi said awkwardly, feeling obligated to explain. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” said Suga. “I really like this song.” He was watching Daichi intently. He’d gone a bit pink across the cheeks, maybe. “So…”

“Um,” Daichi said again. He wanted to say  _ well yes, there’s you _ . But he panicked. He needed time to think this through. “No. Not—not right now.”

“Oh,” said Suga. He dropped Daichi’s hand and rubbed the back of his neck, and for a second Daichi thought he looked disappointed, but then his smile was right back in place. “Okay. Sorry, I was just wondering. We never talk about that stuff anymore.” He turned away, head tilting towards the studio’s clock. “I guess I should go home, if I’m going to make it for dinner.”

“Yeah, sure,” said Daichi, struck by the painful realization that he had now lost all rights to call Asahi a coward ever again.

_ I’m longing to linger till dawn, dear _ , sang Ella. To Daichi, she sounded faintly judgmental.  _ If I can pour my heart out to Louis Armstrong _ , she seemed to say _ , you can tell Sugawara Koushi that you LIKE him _ , _ you big baby _ .

Suga stepped away. A voice that sounded oddly like Kuroo’s chimed in alongside Ella and told Daichi _ , dude, stop trying to plan everything,  _ while another voice, oddly like Bokuto’s, chimed in  _ you just gotta go for it, man _ . Before he could think better of it, Daichi grabbed Suga’s wrist and said, “Actually, wait.”

Suga turned and looked at him, eyes wide. He had really nice eyes, Daichi thought vacantly; big eyes, soft brown, eyes that made you think instinctively that he must have the sweet, innocent disposition of a little baby animal, as Daichi remembered thinking very briefly in high school when they’d first met, right up until the moment Suga had opened his mouth.

“I, uh,” said Daichi, and stopped. The second his fingers had touched Suga’s slightly sweaty skin, his mind had gone blank, the biological equivalent of pouring apple juice through the fan vents on a computer.

Very slowly, not quite in time with the music, Suga moved closer, much closer, stopping just short of the balboa hold that was starting to become familiar for them. And very, very tentatively, Suga raised his free hand, letting his wrist rest lightly against Daichi’s collarbone, just barely cupping Daichi’s jaw with his fingers.

“You have thirty seconds to reassure me that I haven’t horribly misread all of this before I die of embarrassment,” Suga informed him. He was smiling, sort of, but it looked forced, and Daichi could feel Suga’s hand trembling a bit, his fingers cooler than Daichi had expected. It occured to Daichi, finally, that this might be just as terrifying for Suga as it was for him.

“You—you haven’t,” Daichi managed. “That is—it’s—you. I—really like you, Suga.”

Suga was biting his lip again, but behind it this time was the same big, happy grin Suga had worn back in June when the team had surprised him for his birthday, the one that had made Daichi feel at the time like someone had vigorously shaken a big bottle of soda before injecting it directly into his veins, the one that was making Daichi feel exactly the same way right now. 

“I really like you too,” said Suga, and tilted his chin up, very slightly.

Daichi leaned in a bit and thought,  _ I’m going to kiss Suga, I’m actually going to kiss Suga, this is seriously happening.  _ He’d never actually kissed anyone before. He didn’t think Suga had either, though, so at least the bar was low. How did people do it on TV? They sort of turned their heads to the side a bit—and what about his other hand, should he do something with that? He brought it up to cup the back of Suga’s head, which felt silly, but it meant he got to touch Suga’s beautiful hair, and besides, Suga didn’t seem to mind; he was just looking at Daichi through half-closed eyes, his smile almost incredulous.

Just to make extra sure, Daichi said, “Is it okay if I…”

“Yes! Yes. Please,” said Suga.

“—dumbass, how do you forget your  _ shoes _ —”

“I just forgot to put them in my bag, okay? Give me a break! It’s not a big deal—”

Daichi and Suga both froze. Over Suga’s shoulder, Daichi saw Hinata bounce through the door to the studio, Kageyama right behind him.

Hinata looked at Daichi and Suga curiously and said, “Oh, hey, what kind of a hold is that? Are you guys doing blues? Can you show us—”

But Kageyama, who was looking right at Daichi with an expression of fully comprehending mortification, his face flushing bright red, grabbed Hinata around the neck and hauled him forcibly out into the hall.

“Hey! What are you—” Hinata demanded as he disappeared back out the door.

“You can get your shoes tomorrow!” Daichi heard Kageyama snap.

“But why—”

“Just shut up, I’ll explain later—”

Daichi listened to Hinata and Kageyama’s footsteps retreating. He took a deep breath. His heart still seemed to be under the impression that he was triple-stepping to Suga’s crazy 280 BPM music, which was unnecessary, as all the blood in his body seemed to have congealed in his head. “I… think we just traumatized Kageyama,” he muttered.

“It  _ is _ pretty scandalous,” said Suga, who had gone spectacularly pink but also looked like he was on the verge of laughter. “The captain kissing the vice-captain right in the studio… it would really be a waste if you  _ didn’t _ kiss me, after all that, don’t you think…?”

“Well, when you put it like that…” said Daichi, and so, before any other overzealous first-years could wander in, Daichi leaned forward and kissed him.

It was, Daichi later reflected, not entirely dissimilar to the experience of performing: nerve-wracking, exhilarating, and over before he’d really had a chance to process what was happening. Suga’s mouth was soft; Daichi could taste the sweat on his upper lip, could feel the heat radiating off the back of Suga’s neck where his fingers clutched at Suga’s hair, could tell that, of course, his own hands had started to get very sweaty again, obviously, because that was a wonderful and useful genetic feature his ancestors had chosen to bestow upon him, but he couldn’t bring himself to care too much right now, because he was  _ kissing Suga _ . When Daichi pulled back, Suga looked just as dazed as he felt, which was reassuring, and which seemed to suggest that Daichi probably hadn’t messed things up too badly.

“Maybe…” Suga began.

“Again?” suggested Daichi.

“Two kisses isn’t really more scandalous than one,” Suga pointed out, very sensibly, so Daichi kissed him again, and then twice more after that, “just to make sure we’re doing it right,” Suga had said.

“Don’t you have to go home for dinner?” Daichi remembered to ask, eventually.

“I don’t really  _ have _ to,” said Suga. “If, say, my team captain were to invite me over to his apartment for, you know, discussing… team logistics… or whatever… well, I take my duties as vice-captain very seriously. My parents would understand.”

“Right. They must be so proud to have such a diligent son,” said Daichi. The thought of being with Suga in his apartment, alone, just the two of them, alone, without anyone else around, _alone_ , was making him lightheaded. He’d been alone with Suga in his apartment hundreds of times before, of course, but now—well. It felt—improper, suddenly, like there ought to be an adult around making pointed comments about Daichi keeping the door open. Not that Daichi thought they would be doing anything involving—no, no, no, actually, he just wasn’t going to think about _that_ at all right now, he might actually die—but still. Maybe they could invite Asahi over.

Except… he really didn’t want Asahi over right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jam circles have been mentioned a few times by now... there are a couple of different kinds but the one in this chapter (and the ones mentioned in other chapters) usually happen spontaneously during social dance, either when a really upbeat and well-known song (a banger, if you will) comes on and/or when a couple is really throwing down and people cluster up around them in a circle. Couples and/or individuals will come in and out of the centre of the circle to show off while everyone claps and cheers. Depending on the scene, aerials might be permitted in a jam circle (provided you're dancing with a partner you know and with whom you have practiced aerials) or they might not. Here's a video of a jam circle from Lindy Shock (this circle is really tight but in bigger circles sometimes you'll have more than one couple in the middle): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-HV2TlktDn0


	7. You're Driving Me Crazy (Big Joe Turner, 1956)

“Wait, do it like that again. I liked it that time,” said Shouyou. His leg was bouncing instinctively, crushing the grass in his backyard under foot. He’d never been good at sitting still, but he made himself rest his head in his hands and focus on Kageyama. He’d get to dance too, soon enough. Kageyama had promised to lead swing-outs so Shouyou could practice some of the new variations Kiyoko-san had shown him, but first he’d wanted Shouyou to watch him for a bit.

“Like this?” Kageyama asked, and did another jump charleston.

“Yeah! The way you bring your leg behind like that—and you really bounced that time. It looked good. Right, Natsu?”

Shouyou’s little sister let out a long-suffering sigh and turned another page in her book, her whole body drooping with boredom. “You guys are nerds,” she said.

“Wha—we’re not! This is cool!  _ You’re _ a nerd!” Shouyou protested.

“When are you taking me for ice cream?” Natsu demanded. “You promised, like, an  _ hour _ ago.”

“Isn’t it too cold for ice cream?” Kageyama asked.

“It’s  _ never _ too cold for ice cream,  _ stupid _ ,” Natsu said scornfully, and Shouyou couldn’t help snorting with laughter; Kageyama wore the stunned expression of someone who’d just had his entire finger bitten off by a cute little kitten.

But Shouyou  _ had _ promised, and his mom had told him to buy something for dinner, so he waited for Kageyama to pull on his sweater and the three of them set off for the konbini a few blocks over from Shouyou and Natsu’s house.

“I want to wear my heels for the Showdown performance,” Shouyou announced as they walked.

“That’s stupid. You’ll slip and die,” said Kageyama.

“I won’t!” Hinata insisted. “I’ve been practicing in them a ton. And Noya-senpai does some of his aerials in heels.”

“ _ Some _ of them. And he doesn’t do the flip thing.”

_ The flip thing _ was Kageyama’s incredibly creative name for the move they’d developed out of Shouyou’s backflip. He could jump high enough to clear Kageyama’s head all on his own, but they’d discovered they could make it into a  _ double _ flip if Kageyama assisted, which was much cooler. The current version involved Shouyou flipping forward onto Kageyama’s back and springboarding into a backflip off his shoulders while Kageyama grabbed Shouyou’s calves and  _ tossed _ to get a little more height and a faster spin.

“I can do it,” Shouyou insisted stubbornly. “I land on the balls of my feet anyway. The heel doesn’t make a difference.”

“Why do you care so much anyway? They’re just shoes.”

“They’re not  _ just shoes _ ,” said Shouyou, inexplicably hurt by Kageyama’s dismissal. They  _ were _ just shoes. But… “I don’t know! I just really like wearing them. They make my dancing feel different. Cooler. Wearing them feels right.”

“They  _ do _ make you cooler,” Natsu agreed. “When are you gonna grow out of them so I can have them?”

“Ha! Never!”

“Never? So that means you’re never gonna grow, niichan? You’re gonna be short forever?”

“Wait—no! That’s not what I meant—I’m still growing! You’re short too—”

“Yeah, ‘cause I’m  _ ten _ —”

Kageyama seemed content to let them argue. He didn’t say much for the rest of the walk, and he didn’t say much while Natsu tried to convince Shouyou to buy her  _ two _ ice creams instead of one, and when Shouyou paid for Kageyama’s milk along with everything else, all Kageyama said was, “Thanks.” But when they were walking back, Natsu made them stop at the playground so she could spin herself dizzy on the roundabout, so Shouyou and Kageyama sat on the swings to wait; and then Kageyama finally turned to Shouyou and said, “Your dance shoes are women’s shoes.”

“Yeah, so?” Shouyou mumbled around a mouthful of his meat bun. “Noya-senpai wears them too.”

“Yeah… but Noya-san… he’s…” Kageyama trailed off, frowning at his milk carton.

“Does it embarrass you or something?”

Kageyama gave him a startled look, as if the idea hadn’t even occurred to him. “No. I just wondered if it… meant anything.”

“Huh?”

“I don’t know. Never mind.”

“No, what?”

Kageyama sighed and stared up at the sky, perhaps hoping for a jet to fly by overhead and spell out the words he wanted in its vapour trail. “I guess I was wondering if you liked other women’s stuff too. If you wanted to be more…” He flapped a hand vaguely. “Like… you know… like a girl, or whatever.”

Shouyou crammed the rest of the meat bun in his mouth and kicked off the ground, pumping his legs a few times to get the swing going. It meant he didn’t have to look Kageyama in the face, and it hopefully also meant that Kageyama couldn’t really see Shouyou’s own face starting to go red. He sort of had an answer, but he didn’t really understand it, and he wasn’t really ready to think about it. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“It’s fine if you do,” Kageyama said quickly.

“I know it’s fine!”

Shouyou kept swinging, and after a while Kageyama joined him, until Natsu got bored of the roundabout and ran over to announce that she was ready for dinner. They walked back to the house, and Shouyou heated up the noodles he’d bought, and Kageyama and Shouyou practiced in the backyard until it started to get dark, and neither of them brought the subject up again—except for right before Kageyama left, when he said, “If you really want to wear the shoes for the routine, you could probably do it. You need to start practicing the choreo in them, though. And if you kick me in the head even once, you’re dead meat, okay?”

So Shouyou brought them to practice the next day, and of course, immediately—

“You  _ can’t _ do your flip in heels. Not you  _ shouldn’t _ . You  _ can’t _ ,” snapped Tsukishima. “How the hell are you supposed to land it?”

“He can do it,” Kageyama said stubbornly. Shouyou remembered the first thing Kageyama had said yesterday— _ that’s stupid, you’ll slip and die _ —and wondered what the heck had made him change his mind.

“Last week  _ you _ said he couldn’t, Kageyama!” Yamaguchi protested. “You’re just trying to pick a fight with Tsukki!”

“I don’t know, Shouyou, it seems dangerous…” said Yachi.

“By dangerous, you mean  _ incomprehensibly stupid _ , right?” said Tsukishima.

“Ha! Just watch me!” said Shouyou. “Kageyama, get down!”

Daichi, whose captain senses had presumably been alerted by the heated tones of the first-years clustered in the studio and the word  _ dangerous _ , was already turning to look at them suspiciously, saying, “What are you—”

But he was too late, because Kageyama had dropped into a low-down, and Shouyou had started the eagle slide (he could do the flip from standing, but a run-up was cooler). He dropped into the prep, thighs tensing, core tight—and then Shouyou was flipping forward, his hands pressing into Kageyama’s shoulders, Kageyama reaching back to grab his legs; he was whipping over Kageyama’s head, sinking into the floor, popping upright, falling back into Kageyama’s waiting arms. Kageyama set him back on his feet, clenching a fist victoriously while Shouyou let out a whoop.

The first-years stared at him. So did the rest of the team.

“Told you so,” Kageyama said smugly, to a horrified Tsukishima.

“That was awesome!” said Shouyou, and did a couple of excited scissors kicks, just to watch his shoes sparkling in the studio lights. “I’m gonna wear these for the showcase!”

“But—” said Daichi, and then stopped, apparently at a loss for words. He looked at Coach Ukai, who was still staring open-mouthed at Shouyou. With the whole team’s attention on him, though, he snapped his mouth shut and frowned.

“ _ If _ you can land  _ all _ your aerials in those  _ every _ time, then we’ll talk,” said Coach Ukai.

***

The Sendai Showdown kicked off with a social dance at the Katahira Community Centre on Friday night. Daichi wasn’t nervous then; he danced for a couple of hours, had a good time, and went home earlyish to rest up, thinking as he walked from the train station,  _ performing at the festival wasn’t so bad; this will be just fine _ . He wasn’t nervous when he woke up the next morning, or when he was eating breakfast, or when Suga texted him  _ good morning handsome!!! ready to dance?? _ , or when he was on the train; instead, the second he walked back through the doors of the Katahira Community Centre, it hit him all at once, one big roundhouse kick of paralyzing apprehension right to the solar plexus.

The Open Strictly started at one. If he were Asahi, that would have given him several hours to stress himself into a strung-out six-foot ball of anxiety. Because he was Daichi, however, he gave himself ten minutes to panic before he told himself sternly to snap out of it and enjoy the day, and that seemed to do the trick. Even at a quarter to one as he helped Suga pin the competition number onto the side of his pants, Daichi’s hands were only a little bit sweaty.

When the MC had called their names, Daichi fixed a smile on his face, linked arms with Suga, and walked out onto the dance floor to join the other couples in the competition. They settled in position, Daichi’s heart already having made the executive decision to take up residence somewhere in his throat. Suga squeezed the hand around Daichi’s waist. He was tenser than usual too, but smiling, excited. Around them, the other couples were positioning themselves, murmuring last-minute words of encouragement to each other or laughing nervously; and beyond them, the Showdown’s spectators clustered on the floor in anticipation. Daichi glanced at the crowd and couldn’t help grinning. The whole of the Tohoku University Swing Dance Team had managed to squeeze themselves into the front row, even though it meant Noya was literally sitting in Asahi’s lap.

“Now remember, your job is to make me look cool if I mess up, alright?” murmured Suga.

“I thought that was  _ your _ job?” said Daichi.

The music for the first song started—

And then—

What was apparently fifteen minutes later, but felt like about thirty seconds—

They bowed, along with all the other couples in the all-skate, and walked off.

“I… don’t remember any of that,” Daichi said.

“Me neither,” Suga admitted. “I assume that means we didn’t totally screw anything up?”

“Hopefully—oh, brace yourself—”

Tanaka reached them first, and slapped Daichi on the back hard enough to make him wheeze; Suga threw his arms around Asahi, with Hinata and Yachi and Yamaguchi all trying to pile into the hug as well; Noya punched Daichi affectionately in the stomach; Ennoshita, blessedly, said, “Guys, guys, don’t smother them;” and even Tsukishima muttered a stiff, “Congratulations.”

“You guys were  _ awesome _ , man,” said Tanaka.

“Your swivels looked so good, Daichi-san!” said Shouyou. “When Kiyoko-san does them, she’s all like— _ hips! _ But you were like— _ knees!  _ They looked so good!”

“Were you nervous?” Yamaguchi asked. “You didn’t look nervous!”

“That dip you led on the second song looked really good, Suga, really musical,” said Asahi.

The MC announcing the muster for the Mix-and-Match cut through the team’s chatter, and Noya sucked in a breath. “Kiyoko-san’s in the first heat! She might need help pinning her number! I gotta go!”

“Wha—no fair! You got a head start!” cried Tanaka, taking off after him.

“Bokuto-san’s in this heat too!” Shouyou said excitedly, and started tugging at Kageyama’s sleeve. “Come on, we need a good seat!”

“Let’s get a drink before we sit down,” Suga suggested as the rest of the team dispersed in just as much of a whirlwind as they’d arrived. He turned toward the coat room and narrowly missed colliding with Tanaka Saeko, who came charging right past them at a sprint.

“Shit, sorry, my bad! Gah, where’s my dumb little brother? He always disappears whenever there’s work to do!” said Saeko.  _ Frazzled _ was the politest way Daichi could think to describe her. One bra strap had slid right down her shoulder from under her tank top, and the way she was blinking rapidly at Daichi and Suga suggested the coffee clutched in her hand wasn’t her first. Her phone buzzed frantically, and she groaned. “This is the  _ last _ year I’ll be the stupid volunteer coordinator! I’m so shitty at it!”

If Daichi’s memory served, she’d said the exact same thing last year, and the year before that, too.

“Your brother and Noya are fighting over who gets to help Kiyoko-san pin on her competition number,” said Suga. “Can I do anything?”

“Ha! Figures. Yeah, that’d be great, actually. I need another box of Showdown t-shirts from my car. Thanks!” Saeko tossed him her car keys before dashing off across the room, shouting at a pair of volunteers who were in the process of setting up an extra table in the foyer, “Hang on, hang on, don’t put it  _ there _ !”

“Want a hand?” asked Daichi.

“With one box of t-shirts?” said Suga, raising his pale eyebrows. “Captain, you insult me. I might not have the legendary Sawamura biceps, but I can fend for myself, you know.”

“Maybe I just wanted to go on a romantic walk to the parking lot with you,” said Daichi, and Suga grinned.

It was cold for December, enough that Suga stopped by his bag in the coat room to pull on his hoodie and Daichi grabbed his hat before stepping out of the building. Daichi glanced around surreptitiously; the parking lot was empty. Everyone who was going to arrive for the day seemed to have arrived already, and the parking lot was around the back of the building, where people passing by on the sidewalk wouldn’t be able to see much. He reached out and took Suga’s hand, and Suga positively beamed. He had to let go again about a minute later when they reached Saeko’s van so that Suga could haul open the back door, but still. 

“I’m really glad we competed,” said Suga, hefting one of the big cardboard boxes out of the backseat. “I had fun. I think. From what little I remember of it.”

“Me too. Sure you don’t want me to take that?”

“Daichi. They’re t-shirts. Carrying this box is far less work than bringing you in on your swing-outs.”

“I know, I know, I’m working on that…”

Suga paused in front of the doors to the building, his breath fogging in the cool air. From out here, Daichi could just make out the music from the Mix-and-Match and the sounds of people clapping and shouting encouragement to their friends. He reached out to open the door for Suga, but Suga said, “Hang on, let’s take a minute. I need a break after carrying that extremely heavy box all the way across the parking lot.”

Daichi rolled his eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ah, but I heard that you have a big crush on me, which makes you ridiculous too,” Suga pointed out. He set the box down at his feet and leaned against the wall; Daichi settled beside him, shoulder-to-shoulder. A few tiny snowflakes drifted down and settled on the cardboard, so small they barely left wet marks as they melted. Suga’s hand found Daichi’s again. Then Suga cleared his throat and said, “Actually, when you asked me to do the Strictly, I sort of thought you were going to ask me out. You were so nervous. I thought, either he’s going to ask me out, or he’s going to tell me he’s started seeing someone, and then I’ll finally have to get over him. But it turned out there was a third option I hadn’t foreseen where you very awkwardly asked me to be your partner in a dance competition.”

“I wanted to ask you out then,” Daichi admitted. “I mean, I wasn’t actually going to do it. I didn’t have the guts. But I wanted to.”

“Ah, so you pulled an Asahi…”

Daichi laughed, but something Suga had said made him suddenly curious. “What do you mean,  _ finally get over him? _ How long have you liked me?”

“Hmm,” said Suga. “Well, how long have  _ you _ liked  _ me _ ?”

“I asked first.”

“Yes, but I need to know how much to adjust my answer to make it less embarrassing.”

“A long time, then?” Daichi guessed. “More than a year?”

Suga nodded.

“Since… first year?”

Suga shook his head.

“Then… high school?”

Suga pulled the neck of his hoodie up to hide the lower half of his face. The cold had already started to turn his cheeks a rosy pink, so Daichi couldn’t tell if he was blushing, but Suga did seem suddenly and suspiciously reluctant to meet his gaze. “Maybe…”

That was… wow. In high school. That was a long time. High school. He’d sort of started noticing Suga—like  _ that _ —in high school, but at the time he’d been way too stupid to even consider the possibility that a guy could be a feasible romantic prospect for him. Suga had gotten a massive head start on him. “When in high school?” Daichi pressed.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Suga said airily, in a way that made Daichi suspect he wasn’t being entirely honest. “Sometime in second year? I used to fantasize about you giving me your second button on our graduation day—very original, I know—and after the ceremony, you would kiss me behind the gym…”

Daichi bit his lip. That was… really cute. He hadn’t given his second uniform button to anyone when he graduated, of course. And he certainly hadn’t kissed anyone behind the gym.

Suga gave him a sly look. “And then you’d take me to the supply closet, and you would passionately tear off my uniform, and we would—oh dear, captain, am I making you blush?”

“I—no! It’s just—the cold—did you seriously—wait, in the  _ supply closet _ ? Really?” Daichi wrinkled his nose, his embarrassment momentarily overruled by visceral distaste. The supply closet in the gym had been crammed full of sports equipment and forgotten uniforms, most of it old, all of it smelling exactly the way you would expect a bunch of gym equipment used all the time by sweaty teenagers to smell. “Suga. That’s gross.”

Suga just laughed and said, “We were teenagers! There weren’t many options. Where else would we have done it—my house, where my parents  _ never _ knock?  _ Your  _ house?” He put on his most demure expression, the one he’d always used in their classes to trick their teachers into thinking he was a well-behaved model student, the one that had earned him the coveted position of Favourite Child in the Sawamura household. “ _ Thank you so much for having me, Sawamura-san, I would love to stay for dinner, please don’t mind while I take your nice son upstairs and ravish him— _ that wouldn’t be awkward at all—”

“ _ Ravish _ ?” Daichi choked.

“Well, my parents raised me to be a good boy—as if I would say  _ fuck _ in front of your mom—”

“Suga, oh my God,” muttered Daichi. He prayed for a sudden cold snap, a freak blizzard, anything to make him feel less—overheated.

“Besides,  _ ravish _ makes it sound so much more romantic,” Suga concluded cheerfully.

The door flew open, and Daichi jumped away from Suga guiltily, even though they hadn’t actually been doing anything other than holding hands. Tanaka stepped out and looked around until he spotted them. “ _ There _ you guys are—d’you have the t-shirts? Saeko needs them,” he said, reaching for the box that lay forgotten at Suga’s feet. He slung it onto one shoulder and straightened up. “What were you guys doing out here, anyway? It’s freezing.”

Daichi tried and failed to think of a platonic and non-suggestive spin on  _ we were holding hands while Suga explained his inappropriate high school fantasies about me _ . They hadn’t actually brought up the whole dating thing with the team yet, aside from the unfortunate encounter with Kageyama, who seemed to have kept quiet about it; and they’d told Asahi, of course, who had sworn not to tell even if Noya tried to bully it out of him (Daichi didn’t have that much faith in him, not in the face of Noya’s relentless Noya-ness, but it was the thought that counted). To be honest, Daichi wasn’t even entirely sure if he and Suga  _ were _ dating, although he was optimistic. And they would tell everyone else eventually. Just—not yet. After the Showdown, when there was no more competition stress and they’d had a chance to figure themselves out. And maybe after he’d gained the ability to hear Suga say the word  _ fuck _ without feeling the urgent need to take a cold shower.

But none of that was particularly useful to Daichi now, with Tanaka watching them expectantly. Luckily, Suga was a better liar than he was. “Captain and vice meeting,” Suga said promptly, hitting Tanaka with his most virtuous smile. “Just doing some administrative stuff.”

Tanaka’s eyes went to Suga’s hand, now tucked behind his back; Daichi’s hand, awkwardly rubbing his neck; both of their faces, thoroughly flushed. He gave them a knowing grin and said, “Suuuuuuure you were. Oh yeah, hey, congrats! You guys ready for your spotlight?”

Daichi and Suga stared at him blankly.

“The finals for your competition?” Tanaka prompted. “Wait, didn’t you even check? You guys made it!”

Finals…? The all-skate had been nerve-wracking enough, and they’d been right in the middle of a dozen other couples dancing all around them. They’d talked about the final jam during their practices a bit, but neither of them had really thought they might actually make it. The jam involved spotlights for all the finalists— _ individual _ spotlights, where no one else was dancing, where all eyes would be on them, like a much higher-stakes version of the demo they’d done in Izumi-ku festival performance.

“I didn’t realize the list was posted yet,” Daichi said numbly. 

“I forgot there were finals,” said Suga. The blush had drained right out of his face. He clutched at the front of his sweater. “Oh God. Where’s Asahi? I need Asahi—”

“Suga-san, no offense, but if you’re freaking out, Asahi-san is the last guy you should be going to for advice, even if he does have a bunch of comp experience. Anyway, you guys were awesome in the prelims. You’ll be fine,” said Tanaka. He hefted the door open with his free hand and nodded for them to go on. “Come on, I’m freezing my balls off. You can finish your ‘meeting’ or whatever inside.” He smirked. “I hear there’s a closet in the volunteer room that’s nice and private if you don’t want anyone disturbing your, ah, ‘administrative stuff.’”

***

Twenty minutes before the team showcase started on Sunday, the Karasuno Chorus Boys, as Daichi had grudgingly registered them, were already milling around the on-deck area, intermingling with the members of other teams in varying attitudes of stage fright. At the Izumi-ku festival, Daichi had made everyone wear their team t-shirts and nice pants, but for the Showdown Asahi had helped Coach Ukai pick a dressier uniform: the leaders wore purple blazers and grey pants, the followers white button-ups and red pants with suspenders. They looked really good; “Real sharp, guys,” Coach Ukai had said approvingly during their dress rehearsal on Thursday, and Noya and Tanaka had been mooning non-stop for the past three days about how amazing Kiyoko-san looked in her suspenders. The costumes were exciting, but they also drove home to Shouyou the fact that the team was actually here, actually about to perform, after all the months of practicing and polishing.

Kuroo’s team from Tokyo was on before them; they looked fancy too, especially all the girls in their satiny skirts and puffy-sleeved blouses, although Shouyou couldn’t help noticing that Kuroo had failed to do anything about his terrible bedhead. Right now Kuroo was doubled nearly in half so that Kenma could tie his tie for him (“What do you mean you forgot how? You wore a tie every single day in high school…” Kenma was sighing). Shouyou was watching them, because watching them meant he didn’t have to look at Asahi, who had gone grey and shaky with nerves again.

Yachi had loaned Shouyou a purple scarf to tie in his hair; he was fidgeting with the ends of it now, running through the choreo steps in his head, terrified he’d forgotten something. He didn’t feel as awful as he had before their first performance, but he kept having gut-churning visions of wiping out during an aerial and getting chewed out by Kageyama mid-performance.

A hand grabbed his wrist and dragged it away from his head, and Kageyama scowled down at him. “Cut it out. You’ll mess your hair up,” he said.

“Come on in, guys,” called Coach Ukai, beckoning them all over while Kuroo’s team lined up to go on first. The team huddled around him, Shouyou squeezing himself in between Kageyama and Tanaka, and Ukai-san surveyed them all, grinning. “You’ve put in a lot of hard work over the past few months. You should all be proud of yourselves. You’re all great dancers, you’ve nailed this a hundred times in practice, so just go out there and dance and have a good time, okay?”

“Thank you, coach,” said Daichi, bowing. He looked at the team and added, “Let’s get lined up—and  _ behave _ until we’re on. Got it?”

There was a moment of controlled chaos as everyone shuffled around to their spots. Shouyou stood between Kageyama and Tsukishima and scuffed one of his heels back and forth on the floor, trying to keep his fidgeting to a minimum.

“From Tokyo, the Skyliners!” called the MC, and Kuroo’s team walked on, the leaders and followers arm-in-arm.

Shouyou watched them get into their starting formation, watched their heads pop up in sync as the music started, watched their feet start to fly. He started to fidget with his headscarf again. Kageyama reached back and smacked him.

After far too few minutes, the song ended, the audience cheered, the team bowed, and the dancers walked off the floor, smiling and fanning their sweaty faces. “Nice job,” said Daichi, as Kuroo passed; Kuroo gave him a lazy salute and said, “Thanks, man. Good luck.”

“Good luck, Shouyou,” Kenma said too, offering Shouyou a rare smile. Shouyou forced a nervous smile back and nodded.

“From right here in Sendai, the Karasuno Chorus Boys!” called the MC.

Daichi led them out onto the floor—from somewhere behind him Shouyou heard Noya mutter, “Okay, Asahi, now don’t cry,” followed by a strangled protest from Asahi—and they took their starting positions, clustered together in a triangle. Daichi waved to the DJ. Then the music started, and they danced, and Shouyou, in his sparkly heels, with Kageyama leading him—Shouyou  _ flew _ .

***

Two weeks after the Showdown, Asahi walked into Dance Studio #3 at Kawauchi Hall and said, “Um, hey, so, you know the song You’re Driving Me Crazy?”

Noya didn’t look up from fastening his shoes. He had his heels today, the scuffed red ones that had been officially retired from performance and designated as practice shoes. Intentionally or not, they matched his baggy red t-shirt. “Hmm, yeah. With the Moten Swing riff, right?”

Asahi nodded.

“Well? What about it?” Noya pushed, when Asahi didn’t continue. He was watching Asahi intently—smiling, still friendly, but his eyes were clear:  _ say what you were going to say. I’m not letting you back off.  _ Aside from the two of them, the studio was empty. The chances of a convenient interruption were low.

Asahi swallowed. “I’ve been, ah, listening to it a lot. The Big Joe Turner version.”

“Oh yeah?” said Noya. “Want to put it on?”

Asahi nodded again, and hooked up his phone to the studio’s speaker, taking his time. He could feel Noya still watching him, not expectantly, just—waiting. His hands weren’t shaking at all, he noticed. He didn’t feel nervous. He was just in the empty studio with Noya, in his track pants, a little hungry, thinking vaguely about how they would be getting ramen with Tanaka and Ennoshita afterwards. You’re Driving Me Crazy was already swinging in his head before he’d even pressed play. He’d had it on a loop last night while he worked on his designs for class.

It occurred to Asahi with some amazement that right now he wasn’t automatically transporting himself back to Swing Out Tokyo, shame and self-loathing bitter at the back of his throat; no, now he was thinking of the Showdown, of the smile Suga had shot him when they walked on, nervous but excited—of the first swing-out with Noya, of glancing over at Daichi when the whole team slid together on the music—of snapping out of a lock-turn to see Kageyama drop into his low-down and Hinata flip over his head in those sparkly heels (“Insane, you’re both  _ insane _ ,” even Noya had said) and hearing cheers from the crowd (he was pretty sure he’d heard Bokuto screaming, “Fuck yeah, that’s my  _ son _ !”). Of watching the solo dancers and couples performing in the short showcase before the team event and thinking  _ I want to be up there too _ .

Right here in the studio, the song started, and when Asahi turned, Noya was bouncing his foot, nodding thoughtfully. “Nice intro,” he said.

“We could have an eight each to come together,” said Asahi. “Maybe with your tabby-the-cat. And then—”

“Swing-out, obviously.”

“Yeah, and then I thought maybe another, but with your delayed swivel? Into a hip catch? We can try it out… I know the song’s slow for us, but—”

“Yeah, but it’s chill—I like it. I’m kinda ready for something new, honestly,” said Noya. He held out his hand to Asahi, grinning. “So—we’re doing this?”

“Yeah,” said Asahi. “I think we are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basic competition format for a strictly or mix-and-match usually starts with an all-skate, where all the couples go out on the floor and dance together at the same time (wearing numbers so the judges can identify them); the judges then pick the finalists, who dance in the final jam, where each couple gets a "spotlight" (usually more than one spotlight) to dance on their own.
> 
> Thank so much for reading!! :D

**Author's Note:**

> As mentioned in the initial note, here are a couple of explanations for some of the terms that come up in this chapter!
> 
> Leader/follower are dance roles with the lead leading/suggesting moves and the follower following them, although the follower still has the freedom to choose their own stylings (and good leaders will leave space for the follower to provide ideas/redirect movements/etc. too). Traditionally the man leads and the woman follows and tbh this is still usually the way the gender breakdown goes, but there are some men (including some pros) who primarily follow and some women who primarily lead. Lots of dancers also "dance switch" i.e. are comfortable dancing both roles, although often at different levels (most of the guys in this fic do this!).
> 
> Aerials/air steps are acrobatic moves that involve one partner’s feet leaving the floor. Some of the basic ones are essentially just jumps or tosses, usually with some support from the partner who’s staying on the ground, but more advanced ones can involve one partner being flipped, tossed around or over the other partner’s body, etc. They’re not social moves (i.e. you would never lead one on someone you haven’t practiced the move with before) and aren’t allowed on the social floor (because danger). The roles for aerials are called base and flyer, not lead and follow, bc the follow isn't always the flyer (although they usually are). SAF Squad's 2019 ILHC routine shows off a lot of aerials and gives a sense of how they're incorporated into dancing: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XcZiX7ftrRw
> 
> The swing-out is sort of the characteristic move of lindy hop and dancers are pretty much always working on them! They show up in the aerial video above and the strictly video below There are a ton of different variations and stylings but the basic move involves the leader catching the follower around the back and redirecting their energy so that they move past the leader into open position and stretching apart (much easier to understand from watching I think???).
> 
> A strictly is a competition format where you enter with a partner you've selected in advance and only dance with that partner. You dance to music selected by the organizers and are meant to improvise (i.e. not perform a pre-choreographed routine). This is in contrast to a mix-and-match, where you sign up as an individual leader or follower and are randomly matched with partners. Usually doing a strictly with someone would involve committing to a practice partnership together where you're working on learning new moves, improving technique, etc. Strictlys also sometimes allow aerials, but it depends on the competition. Here's the invitational strictly (invitational = you have to be invited to compete, i.e. you have to be a pro dancer), also from ILHC 2019: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=osCqkWxCZm4


End file.
